


Sensations

by flawedamythyst



Series: Complications [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Curses, Deaf Clint Barton, Everyone hates magic, Lucky the Dog - Freeform, M/M, Sensory Deprivation, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-04-27 09:32:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 75,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14422536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: When a dragon attacks Manhattan, Clint is hit by a curse, and both he and Bucky have to face that this might be the end of his time as an Avenger. Neither of them cope well.But at least it gives Clint an excuse to get a dog, right?Huge thanks to Tanouska, Ginnyvos and Things-I-Can-Never-Have for betaing for me.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is all written, so I'll be posting chapters as and when I have time to edit them. I assume they'll all be up in about a fortnight.

There were times when Clint looked at his life and was really glad he didn’t have to try and explain it to anyone.

“It’s banking left!” called out Sam, folding his wings back to dive under the dragon as it turned. “It’s heading for the perimeter!”

“We need to turn it back!” called Steve, chasing along the deserted street underneath as the dragon let out a roar and sent a spurt of flame at Sam, who went into a spin to avoid it. “Keep it in the evacuated area!”

Yeah, easier said than done. Fighting a dragon in Manhattan turned out to cause massive property damage, which Clint already knew they were going to get bitched at for later, and had the potential for even more collateral in the form of civilian casualties. The NYPD, who’d gotten a lot better at evacuating buildings since the Chitauri attack, had cleared the Avengers an area about ten blocks square, but keeping the dragon inside that area was proving almost as tricky as just putting the dragon down. Or working out where it had come from to start with.

Clint sent an arrow after the dragon, but his normal arrows were having pretty much no impact on its scales. “Look for the hollow of the left breast,” he muttered to himself, but this wasn’t fiction and there wasn’t a convenient weak spot for him to aim for.

Vision soared in as the dragon approached the perimeter and sent a burst of energy straight at its head. It didn’t seem to do much damage, but it did make it roar and turn, diving down towards where Natasha and Steve were on the ground. Another burst of flame sent them dashing for cover.

“Okay, this isn’t working,” said Bucky, running across the roofs on the opposite side of the street to where Clint was crouched on the highest building he could get to. He was shooting at the dragon whenever it was in range, but it was pretty clear all he was doing was wasting bullets.

“No shit,” said Clint, cycling through his quiver to his special arrows and wondering just what the hell was going to have an impact on the dragon if Vision’s energy beams didn’t.

“Anyone got a plan?” asked Steve. “Anyone at all, I’m open to all suggestions.”

“Not really a good sign when our heroic leader is stumped,” said Clint. “Hey, maybe we’re going about this all wrong. How did St. George kill his dragon?”

“A lance,” said Bucky, “but if your outdated weaponry ain’t doing anything here, I don’t see that a lance will be much help.”

“Outdated,” muttered Clint. “Fuck you.”

Wanda sent a ball of her magic at the dragon, which exploded harmless against a wing. “It has magical protection,” she said. “It’s not its skin repelling our weapons, but a magical force field that’s wrapped around it.”

“Magic, great,” said Rhodey. He released a barrage of missiles at the dragon, swooping past fast enough to avoid the plume of flame that the dragon sent at him in response. The missiles all hit in a line across the dragon’s chest which made it shriek with rage, but once the explosions had cleared, there was no damage to its hide.

“Can you break through the force field somehow?” asked Steve, now sprinting back the other way down the street. Clint was kinda glad that his weapon of choice meant that he just picked a perch and stayed there. Several of the others seemed to be doing a lot of cardio as they tried to keep up with the dragon’s movements.

Wanda had flown up above the dragon and Clint could see the squint of concentration as her magic glowed around it. “I don’t know,” she said with gritted teeth. “It’s- I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Clint sent an explosive arrow at the dragon, catching it right at the back of the neck, but wasn’t particularly surprised when the explosion didn’t have any impact. “Anyone else starting to get a creeping sense of futility?”

“Yeah, it’s kinda similar to how I feel every time I clear up our rooms, knowing it’ll be about thirty seconds before you make another mess,” said Bucky.

“No domestics on the battlefield,” said Natasha very firmly. “Rule seven in the Avengers handbook.”

Clint should probably read that at some point.

Wanda’s magic glowed brighter around the dragon and it roared again. “Now!” she shouted. “Hit it now!” Her magic exploded out from the dragon and Clint sent an arrow right at it then grabbed another one and fired that too.

Bullets, missiles, beams of energy and Steve’s shield all hit the dragon at the same time as all the Avengers closed around it, hitting it with everything they had. It reared up in the air, letting out a bellow of anger and pain. They were finally having an impact on it! Clint paused for a moment as it turned as if trying to get away, then sent his next arrow flying straight for its left eye.

The arrow buried itself right in the centre of its eye, causing it to shriek loudly enough to make Clint’s hearing aids squeak with feedback. It reared up again with a roar, then batted with its wing at where Wanda was still hovering overhead before turning towards Clint.

Wanda went flying through the air and Rhodey swooped down to catch her as the dragon sent a stream of flame towards Clint’s perch.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” he chanted, darting to the edge of the roof he was on and jumping down to the next one as the flame missed him by inches.

“Clint!” he heard Bucky call as he landed hard, rolling awkwardly and losing all the air out of his lungs on impact.

“I’m okay,” he managed with a wheeze, because he knew that panicked tone of voice and it was always better to reassure Bucky as soon as possible rather than concentrate on breathing and let him get into a panic. “Oh fuck,” he added when he opened his eyes and realised that the dragon was now directly above him, glaring with its one good eye as blood leaked out of the socket where the other one had been.

He was moving too slowly. He knew he was moving too slowly as he rolled to his feet and started to run towards the nearest cover. Shit, shit, he’d been able to move so much faster than this when he’d been younger, but he was old and stiff and just not as agile as he used to be and it was about to get him killed. Over the comms he could hear shouting from half the rest of the team, although it was Bucky’s voice that came through loudest, shouting his name as if that were going to make him able to run faster.

He braced himself, waiting for the burning pain as the dragon engulfed him in flame, but it didn’t come. He glanced over his shoulder as he skidded across the roof and _shit_ the dragon was right there, reaching for him with a talon Clint couldn’t avoid.

It seized him up, squeezing around his chest as it shrieked again and then beat its wings hard, lifting them up into the air.

“Fuck!” shouted Clint again, because he felt that if any situation warranted profanity, then this was it. Sam flew in from the right, shooting round after round of bullets at it, but whatever Wanda had done to the force field had only been temporary and they just glanced off.

“Clint! Get the fuck back down here!” shouted Bucky over the comms, which seemed a bit harsh. It wasn’t like this was Clint’s idea.

The dragon was focusing on getting more height, soaring up higher and higher. “I guess at least getting killed by a fucking dragon is an awesome way to go,” said Clint. He still had his bow in his hand but all his arrows were in his quiver, which was wrapped in talons. He reached back and tried to tug one out, gripping the nock and trying to get it loose. “It’ll certainly be a unique obituary.”

“No joking about your obituary when you’re in mortal danger,” said Natasha, and she sounded almost as terrified as Bucky did, which was sweet. “Rule eleven.”

Clint finally managed to get the arrow free. It wasn’t the grappling arrow he’d been hoping for, but it was better than nothing. He could see Vision, Rhodey and Sam flying close, matching the dragon as it soared up and still trying to have an impact on it with their weapons. One of them would catch him if the dragon decided to let go.

He set the arrow to his bow and aimed at the dragon’s other eye. “Let me go, fuckhead.”

The dragon glanced down at him and, wow, was that a grin? Apparently it knew just as well as Clint did that the arrow wasn’t going to have any impact unless Wanda could take the force field down again.

“Hey, Wanda, any chance you can do the thing again?” asked Clint.

There was a telling silence. “It knocked her out,” said Natasha.

Oh, he was definitely going to die. He took as much of a deep breath as he could with the dragon squeezing at his ribs and wondered if he should be coming up with some awesome last words.

Shit, shit, he wasn’t ready to go out. He had so much he still wanted to do, most of it with Bucky.

Fuck, Bucky. He couldn’t die now, that was the last thing Bucky needed.

“Clint, just hold on, we’ll get you out of this,” said Steve Rogers, the eternal optimist.

“Sure,” said Clint, glancing down at the ground below him and then squeezing his eyes shut as he realised just how far away it was now. “Okay, right, well, I guess-”

The dragon let out another roar as it stopped its head-long climb upwards, drowning out Clint’s attempt at a goodbye speech. It circled around, the sun bursting through the clouds and glinting off its green scales. It gave Clint another look that could only be interpreted as a grin, then opened its mouth. Oh shit, he was about to get char-grilled thousands of feet up in the air.

“Clint, I fucking meant it, don’t you dare go and get killed on me just because a dragon is a cool way to go,” said Bucky. “I ain’t ready to say goodbye yet.”

He was doing his best to control his voice, but Clint could hear exactly how scared he was. He imagined being trapped on the ground, just watching as Bucky was taken out of his reach by something huge and ancient that wanted to kill him.

Fuck that, Bucky was right. They weren’t ready to say goodbye.

The dragon inhaled and Clint saw his chance at the one part of it that, hopefully, wouldn’t be covered by the force field.

“Eat shit, asshole,” he gritted out and sent his arrow flying right down the dragon’s throat.

It went straight down, sinking into the soft flesh at the back of its throat, but he’d left it too late. The dragon was already exhaling, but it wasn’t fire coming at Clint, it was a cloud of green mist with the unmistakable glint of magic. It engulfed him at the same time as the dragon choked, its whole body spasming and his talon tightening around Clint, making his ribs creak under the pressure. Then its eyes glazed over, its grip loosened and Clint was slipping free, falling back to earth.

The mist followed him, thickening around him until he couldn’t see past it, sinking into his skin and burning like acid, making him scream with pain. He was still falling when he passed out.

****

When he woke up it was dark and everything hurt. He groaned to himself but couldn’t hear it, which meant his aids hadn’t survived. He couldn’t really blame them, they hadn’t exactly been designed with dragons and magic in mind. He felt for his ears with numb fingers to see if they were still in, then stopped when he realised just how dark it was. He couldn’t see his hand moving in front of his face. Where the hell was he?

He couldn’t feel the breeze anymore, so he must be inside somewhere. He’d been falling, had someone caught him and taken him inside for medical attention? But why would they leave him alone in the dark like this? Where the hell was Bucky?

He blinked, to no noticeable effect. Something caught his wrist and he flailed out at it, landing a blow at whatever was in front of him, which made it move away. Probably a person, then. Whoever it was caught his hand and he tried to pull away, then realised he couldn’t really feel their hand. He _could_ feel the pressure of being held, but he couldn’t feel any texture or warmth from it, couldn’t have said if it was a bare hand or gloved, or even a metal one.

Fuck, this was bad. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t hear, there was something wrong with his skin and his ribs ached in a way that meant fighting was going to hurt like fuck.

“I can’t hear,” he said into the void. “My aids are fucked. You’ll need to turn the lights on if you want me to lipread.”

Panic was rising up in his chest but he took a long slow breath to contain it. “Just turn on the lights, c’mon.”

Because it had to be the lights. He wasn’t accepting any other explanation for the fact that he couldn’t see anything.

There was sudden pressure on his face, just under his eye, and he flinched back, coming up against something unyielding behind him. “Don’t-” he hissed.

There was a pause, then his arm was being moved. The constant, familiar pressure of his bracer eased and a moment later a touch to his soulprint was accompanied by a rush of emotion flowing into him.

“Oh fuck, Bucky,” Clint said, and let himself collapse forward, pressing his face against whichever part of Bucky was in front of him. “Thank fuck.”

The love he could feel coming from Bucky was tinged with desperate worry that he immediately tried to calm, because Bucky should never feel like that.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’m okay. I mean, I’m bruised and battered, and my aids are fucked and it’s possible my ribs are cracked, but I’m okay. Where the fuck are we, anyway? Why are the lights off?”

Bucky’s worry surged and Clint felt his stomach collapse. “Please tell me that it’s the lights and not my eyes,” he said. “Please, Bucky, I don’t- I can’t.”

Something settled around his shoulders, something about the size of an arm, and Clint let himself give in to the panic. “Oh god, what the fuck did that thing do to me?” 

He was shaking, trying to drag in air but his ribs fucking hurt and he couldn’t seem to keep them steady. Fucking magic, he hated fucking magic, and now it‘d done something to him, made him even more fucking broken and useless than he had been before, and he couldn’t hear Bucky, couldn’t see him, couldn’t even feel him as anything other than a solid shape that Clint was clinging to. He should be able to feel the texture of his body armour, the smooth coolness of his metal arm, the tickle of his hair as he held Clint close, but all he had was the shape of his body clinging to Clint’s.

Abruptly, Clint realised he should have been able to smell Bucky as well, leather and gunpowder and sweat, but there was nothing. He pulled back, thumping into whatever was behind him when he misjudged the distance. The movement pulled his print away from Bucky’s finger and broke the connection between them so that Clint couldn’t feel his love anymore, but Clint was far too panicked right now to pay attention to that.

He couldn’t see, he couldn’t feel, he couldn’t smell… He held his hand up to his face and ran his tongue up it, hoping for at least the leather taste of his shooting glove and the sting of sweat over his skin, but there was nothing there either.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he said, as pressure settled on his shoulders and pulled him back in towards Bucky. “Bucky, this isn’t- I can’t smell anything, can’t taste anything, my skin is all numb and weird, I don’t- My ears. It’s not the aids, is it? It did something to my senses, turned them all off, even the one that was already shitty, and now I can’t- “

He struggled away from Bucky’s grip, flailing his hands. “Oh shit, I can’t do this, Bucky, you have to fix it, you have to fix it, I can’t-” 

A wave of panic drowned out every other thought he had. Not that there was anything else to drown out. He was speaking words he couldn’t hear, babbling his fear at someone he only knew was Bucky because of his soulprint, while who knew what the fuck was going on around them. Were they still on the street? How long had Clint been out? Someone must have caught him as he fell, how long ago had that been?

Bucky caught his arm and pressed on his print again, and the flow of his love and care slowed the panic flooding through Clint for long enough for him to take a deep breath and force back the rest of it. They were Avengers, they could fix this. They knew magicians or, at least, Wanda did, someone would be able to sort this out.

His hands were pulled forward and his fingers gently shaped and then pulled upwards. It took him a couple of times to recognise the gesture as the ASL for ‘tower’. Right, Tony’s tower was closer than the Avengers base, it made more sense to go there.

“Okay, yeah,” he said. “We going now?”

One of his hands was pushed into a fist shape and moved as a ‘yes’.

“Okay,” said Clint, and started to pull away, preparing to stand up.

There was a sudden rush of movement and he felt himself swoop up in the air, cradled like a bride against something firm that had to be Bucky’s chest.

“Fucking asshole,” managed Clint as they moved. “Oh man, please tell me there aren’t media watching this.”

The chest vibrated in a familiar way. “No fucking talking when I can’t hear or see you,” muttered Clint.

Something pressed against his lips and it took him a moment to realise it was a kiss. A kiss without the texture of Bucky’s lips, or the taste of his mouth, or the smell of his skin. He drew in a ragged breath because he didn’t have the capacity to deal with this much emotion right now. Oh god, if they didn’t fix this, he’d lose so much that he couldn’t stand to be without.

He was set down on something. He ran a hand over it but it still felt like he’d been covered in numbing gel, and all he could tell was that it had more give than whatever he’d been sitting on before. He forced himself to think. “I’m guessing this is the quinjet, right? Quickest way to the Tower.”

Something was pressed against his side, something that he guessed was Bucky when it put an arm around his waist.

He tried to focus on that as he realised just how completely vulnerable he was. They were probably on the quinjet, but they could also be in an ambulance, or a van, or still on the street somewhere waiting for transport. He had no way of knowing. He reached out and something took his hand, squeezing tightly enough for him to feel the pressure. It was smaller than Bucky’s hand would have been, smaller than almost anyone on the team. There was something familiar about the shape of it, though.

“Natasha?” he guessed.

There was a long squeeze, a shorter one, then two more long ones followed by four short ones. _Yes_. 

“Nat, this is really fucked up,” he said.

_Yes_ , she agreed, then added _We will fix it._ It took a while for her to get that out in Morse.

Clint couldn’t keep in a tired laugh. “Just because you want something badly enough doesn’t mean it’ll happen,” he said. “This isn’t a damn kids film. Hey, did we at least take out the dragon?”

_Dead,_ she tapped, and he managed to pull a grin from somewhere.

“Hey, I killed a dragon. Go me, I’m basically a fairytale character, right?”

There was a smooth jolt that was familiar enough for him to recognise it as the quinjet landing. Shit, he hadn’t even noticed them taking off. A horrible sense of disconnect from what was happening to him flooded through him and he had to take a deep breath to push back at the panic that was still crowding at his mind.

Natasha squeezed his hand again. _Tower. Medical._

Medical. Because they’d have the faintest idea what to do with a magical curse created by a dragon.

“Fine,” he said, “but I’m walking there. No more being carried.”

Natasha’s hand left his and a moment later he was being swung up into the air again.

“Hey!” he protested, struggling against Bucky’s grip. “C’mon, my legs still work.”

He was gently lowered until his feet hit the ground and he could stand, but an arm stayed wrapped around his waist and Natasha’s hand slipped back into his other one.

It turned out that walking down to medical wasn’t the best plan he’d ever had. There were way more steps and slopes and little ridges at doorways than he’d bothered remembering, and without his hearing Bucky and Natasha couldn’t even warn him about them until he’d tripped. He stubbornly kept going though, refusing to give in and just let Bucky carry him again.

It seemed to take a lot longer than normal, which might have been because he was walking a lot slower than he usually did, or it could have been because he was rapidly losing all sense of time without any of the usual clues from his senses. 

It was worse when they got to Medical. He sat with Bucky pressed next to him and no idea what was going on, just letting unknown hands poke and prod at him, running all kinds of tests that he was willing to bet would come back negative. Occasionally Bucky would make a sign for him to feel, to warn him of something particularly invasive, but that was about all the connection he had with what was going on. He felt himself starting to drift, sinking down into his mind and just letting whatever was happening happen.

Someone took his aids off, which made him flinch, then a few minutes later they were fitted back in.

“No point,” he said, dully. “I can’t hear anything.”

They were taken away again.

_Needle,_ Bucky shaped his hands to sign and Clint pulled himself back to as much of the moment as he could. His arm was being held to put his veins on show, so he took a deep breath and did his best not to flinch when the bite of a needle sinking in came through to him.

At least he could still feel pain. Every touch to his skin felt as if it was coming through a thick layer of cloth, but the pain came through sharp and clear. Especially from his ribs, which had taken the brunt of the abuse from the dragon.

_Ribs,_ was the next sign from Bucky. _Shirt off_.

The idea of removing a layer made Clint feel even more horribly vulnerable than he already did, even knowing Bucky was right there with him and wouldn’t let anything bad happen.

“Oh no,” said Clint. “I’m not stripping off when I don’t know who’s watching. I know everyone wants a chance to ogle this fine bod, but even I have limits.”

_Me,_ signed Bucky for him. _Natasha. Doctor Cho. No one else._

Clint made a face, but all three of those people had seen him far more naked than just shirtless. “Fine, fine,” he muttered, and fumbled at his body armour. Bucky’s hands came to help but he batted them away. “Dude, I can undress myself, get off.”

The hands retreated, which was when Clint remembered that injured ribs made getting clothes off a bit tricky.

Screw it, he wasn’t going to let Bucky baby him, not even when things were this shitty. He did have some self-respect.

Except, it turned out that being able to feel things properly made more of a difference to getting zippers and buckles open than he’d have expected, especially when you couldn’t see them. After he’d fumbled blindly at the fasteners for a bit, he gave in. “Fuck it, you do it.”

He’d just sit there like a useless lump while other people had to do everything for him.

Bucky took his body armour off with slow, careful movements, then pulled Clint’s shirt over his head. At least, he assumed it was Bucky. It certainly felt the same as when Bucky had undressed him at other times, even if he couldn’t see, feel or hear him.

Clint had sat through having his ribs checked over and then bandaged far more often than he was prepared to admit, but doing it while blind and deaf and not properly able to feel the hands touching him was one of the worst experiences he’d had. Bucky took his arm and pressed a finger to his print, pushing love and support through to him, and that was just about all that kept him sat there, just letting it happen.

Eventually, Bucky let go of his print in order to tap out, _Bruised not cracked_ in Morse on his wrist.

“Well, that’s something, I guess,” said Clint, tiredly. “Anyone got any clue on the rest of it?”

_No,_ tapped Bucky, and then _MRI_.

Clint let out a very long sigh. “Great,” he muttered. “My favourite.”

By the time they’d run through every test that medical wanted to try on him, Clint was barely holding on to his sanity. Even with Bucky sat right next to him, touching him whenever the tests allowed it and pressing his finger against Clint’s print to send him occasional bursts of love and affection, it was still horribly isolating.

Eventually Bucky indicated to him that they were done.

“And?” asked Clint. “Please, tell me they’ve at least gone something to work with. Some idea on how to start to fix this.”

_Sorry,_ said Bucky. _Magic._

Despair rolled through Clint and he curled over to rest his face in his hands. He made himself take a deep breath, and then another, to choke back the tears that were threatening. He had to believe that it was going to be okay, that they’d manage to fix this, or he was going to completely lose it.

****

Bucky dressed him, then helped him feel his way along the walls to get to the elevator. He told him they were going to the main penthouse, then helped Clint over to one of the sofas and he sat down again, wondering what the fuck was meant to happen next. Bucky pressed a kiss to his lips -or, at least, someone did and he really fucking hoped it was Bucky- and then he was left alone.

Clint hadn’t realised how much he’d been anchoring himself by the constant light pressure of Bucky’s touch until it was gone and all he was left with was silent darkness. He gripped at the edge of the sofa cushion, squeezing it tightly in his hands to avoid thinking about how he couldn’t feel the texture of the material beneath his skin.

Fuck. Fuck, he hated this so much.

A weight settled on his shoulder and something pulled his hand off the sofa and set a round shape against it. He fumbled to take it, realising as he felt a handle that it must be a mug.

Coffee. It had to be coffee. See, and that was exactly why he loved Bucky so much, because he understood exactly what Clint needed most. He brought it up to his face, and then realised that he wasn’t going to be able to smell or taste it.

Aw man, this all just kept getting worse.

At least he could feel the heat of it, radiating through his hand. It was a pale comfort. “This better be coffee,” he said. “Just because I can’t smell or taste it doesn’t mean I’m not going to be pissed if you’re tricking me into drinking tea or, I don’t know, hot water or something.”

“It’s coffee,” said Wanda’s voice, and he flinched back with surprise.

“I heard that!” he said. “I heard you, say something else.”

“I’m talking directly to your mind,” said Wanda. “I’m sorry, I know you hate people being in your head…”

“No, nope, that’s totally fine, I’m way too fucking relieved to hear anything to be worried about that,” said Clint. “Wait, should I just be thinking this?”

“Either is fine,” said Wanda. “Bucky wants me to tell you that only a moron would get themselves cursed by a dragon.”

Clint couldn’t keep in a smile. “Yeah, we both know he’s secretly totally impressed that I managed to slay a dragon. I’m his knight in shining armour, right? Hey, it knocked you out, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, just a bruise,” said Wanda. “So’s everyone else. Sam, Vision and Rhodey have gone back to the base. Steve and Natasha have gone to ask Doctor Strange for his help. Tony’s here, as well as Bucky.”

“Okay,” said Clint, taking a deep breath. “Okay. And have we got any clue on how to fix this? Anything at all? Your witchy powers must be able to do something, right?”

Even with her voice only being in his mind, he could feel the hesitation. “Not at the moment,” she said cautiously. “Doctor Strange knows far more than I do though, he might be able to help.”

Clint slumped. “Right,” he said. “Okay.”

Well, if anyone knew enough to help, it would be Doctor Strange. It was just a shame he was so damn annoying.

He took a sip of the coffee and wasn’t particularly surprised to find out that without the taste or the smell, it wasn’t the beautiful experience of joy that he was used to. Well, at least the caffeine would perk him up, right?

“Bucky is offering to make you a sandwich,” said Wanda.

Clint thought about chewing on flavourless bread and shook his head. “Nah, I’m good.”

A weight rested on his knee and squeezed it.

“He thinks you should eat something,” said Wanda, and then, softer, “I think he wants to be able to do something to help.”

She probably had a point. Bucky didn’t cope well with feeling helpless in the face of people he cared about being hurt. Clint set his hand down over Bucky’s, wishing he could feel it as more than a shape. “He is helping,” he said, then turned towards where Bucky must be. “You are helping, Buck, are you kidding? I’d be curled up in a corner screaming if it weren’t for you.”

Something pressed his face, then shaped around the curve of his cheek. Bucky’s other hand. That must be the metal one, but Clint couldn’t feel the difference between them at all.

“He still wants you to eat something,” said Wanda.

Clint sighed. “Yeah, yeah, okay, fine.”

Bucky pulled away and he was left with just his mug of tasteless coffee.

****

He managed to eat the whole sandwich, although only the thought of Bucky’s disappointed face kept him going right to the end. It was just so completely boring without any flavour.

He drank all the coffee, of course, because even without any taste, he wasn’t about to let that go to waste.

Doctor Strange turned up before Bucky could force any more food on Clint. He projected his voice into Clint’s head in the same way that Wanda had been doing, and Clint realised that if they didn’t get this fixed, the only voices he’d ever hear again would be magic users.

There must be some way to teach Bucky magic, right?

“I need you to just hold still and let me take a look at the spell surrounding you,” said Doctor Strange. “Don’t move.”

It didn’t take very long, not that Clint had any way to track time now. He could at least feel it, like a warm flow running over his skin, lingering on his eyes, ears, nose and mouth.

“I’m afraid I’ve never seen anything like this before,” said Strange, and Clint had to force back another wave of despair. “I’ll have to see if there’s anything in my library on dragons and their magic, but I must confess, I didn’t think dragons had much magic of their own.”

Well, that didn’t sound hopeful. Clint collapsed back against the sofa. “This is such bullshit,” he announced to the room, probably too loudly but it wasn’t as if he could judge volume right now. He pulled his legs up and curled in on himself, pressing his forehead to his knees. “I hate everything about it,” he added and, shit, that was starting to feel like a sob pressing against his throat, he needed to pull it together.

The weight of an arm settled around his shoulders and someone pressed in close to his side, and he only knew it was Bucky because he was so familiar with how it felt to have him wrapped around him. He knew exactly how his face would look right now, concern covered up with a scowl, but he still ached to actually be able to see it. They should be curled up in bed together at this stage of their usual post-mission rituals. Fuck, he was missing Bucky while he had him right there next to him, missing his voice, his face, the way his lips felt against Clint’s, the silk of his hair under Clint’s hand, all of it. Was this how the rest of his life was going to be?

He fumbled out to grab at Bucky, turning to sink into his embrace. “I hate this,” he muttered into Bucky’s shoulder, not caring if he could hear him or not. “I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.”

Oh fuck, he was crying now. Fuck, he had no idea who was even watching him right now. Was Tony still here? Had Natasha and Steve come back with Strange? He had no way of knowing.

Bucky’s arms tightened around him, holding him close as Clint struggled to regain control of himself. This would just be temporary. He had to believe that. They’d find some way to fix it.

“I want to go to bed,” he said. “Bucky, if no one else wants to poke at me, I want to go to bed.”

He wanted to shut out everyone else and hide under the covers so that he could pretend the blankets were the reason he couldn’t see or hear.

“Bucky’s going to take you to your room here,” said Wanda in his head. “Clint, we will find a way to fix this.”

“Sure,” said Clint, pullling away from Bucky and standing up, carefully shuffling his feet to avoid falling over anything. “It’s all gonna be fine, right? Nothing ever goes wrong for the Avengers.”

Even without being able to hear it, he knew he hadn’t been able to keep the bitter note out of his voice.

Clint was too tired to try and make it through to the room Tony kept for him in the Tower without walking into anything, so he let Bucky carry him again, and then just stood in place as Bucky undressed him. He resisted the suggestion of a shower by just crawling into bed and pulling the covers around himself. One of the perks of staying at the Tower was Tony’s ridiculously high thread count sheets, but he couldn’t feel them at all now. They might as well be sandpaper.

Bucky slipped in beside him a while later, pressing up close to him. Clint immediately rolled over to sprawl out over him and hold on as tightly as he could. Bucky’s arms closed around him with just as much force and they just clung together for a bit. Clint pressed his eyes shut so that it felt like his choice not to be able to see, and tried to tell himself that this was just the same as any other night they’d spent together, once Clint had taken out his aids. It didn’t work.

****


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing he realised when he woke up the next morning was that he could feel the difference between Bucky’s metal arm and his flesh one, where they were both draped around him. His eyes flew open with relief, but he still couldn’t see. He sat up, rubbing at his eyes in the vague hope that would help, but there was still nothing when he took his hands away. 

Right, okay. He was able to feel the texture of his skin and the dishevelled mess that was his hair so one step forward, anyway. He turned back to where Bucky had been lying, then flinched back when he smacked into something hard and metal. Aw, shit, Bucky’s arm. He must have sat up.

“Fuck,” muttered Clint, rubbing at the bruise, and a moment later another hand joined his. Oh god, he could feel it, actually feel Bucky touching him. He grabbed the hand, ignoring the pain radiating across his skin, and pressed a kiss to it. He breathed in and was able to smell the reassuringly familiar scent of Bucky’s skin.

“Okay, I’ve got touch and smell back,” he said, then stuck out his tongue and licked a wide path up Bucky’s palm.

Bucky flinched back, pulling his hand away and probably complaining, but Clint didn’t care because he could feel the tangy taste of the salt on Bucky’s skin tingling over his tongue. “And I can taste!” he said. “Oh, thank fuck, I can have coffee and truly appreciate it.”

A moment later, Bucky’s arms were back around him and he was being kissed with the same desperation that Clint had been feeling since he’d opened his eyes to darkness yesterday. He clung on and kissed back, concentrating on the feel of Bucky’s skin under his hands, the taste of his mouth, just how good it was to know he was there as more than just a shape.

Fuck, he wanted to be able to see him, though. He wanted to hear his voice, even if it was only through his aids.

Bucky’s finger crept to Clint’s forearm, finding his print without having to break his mouth away through ease of long practice, and a moment later Clint felt the flow of his love pouring into him. He ran his hand down Bucky’s side in response, trailing his fingertips over his skin until he felt Bucky draw in a sharp breath and knew that he’d connected with his print.

At least they had this. Even if Clint had stayed completely shut off like he’d been yesterday, even if his eyesight never came back, he and Bucky would always have the way that their feelings for each other flowed through their prints, love and affection and everything they felt flooding into each other like a circuit.

That said, he really hoped his eyesight did come back. There wasn’t much point in a blind archer, after all. If he stayed completely deaf, well, it wasn’t anything he hadn’t already learnt to work around.

Bucky pulled away from their kiss and dropped his forehead to Clint’s shoulder, letting out a gentle huff of air, and Clint took that as the signal to move his finger away from his print. Bucky didn’t get overwhelmed by linking up nearly as much as he used to when they were first activated, but he still tended to pull away after a minute or two. Clint couldn’t blame him. He sometimes found the full reality of just how much Bucky felt for him a lot to deal with too.

“Do you think my eyesight will come back as well?” asked Clint. “If the rest of it wore off, it must do, right?”

Bucky lifted his head and pressed a kiss to Clint’s cheek, which he took as a yes, then he pulled away, out of Clint’s arms.

“Hey, come back,” said Clint, reaching after him, but Bucky was only gone a moment before he was sliding back against Clint’s body, one arm wrapping around his waist and the other one tapping against Clint’s. Clint uncurled his hand and felt the familiar plastic shape of his aids been pressed against his palm.

“Oh right, I guess we should check that,” he said, lifting them up to fit them in his ears.

For a moment, everything stayed silent and he thought his ears were still as fucked as his eyes, then he heard Bucky’s voice saying his name and he realised it was just quiet in the room.

“Bucky,” he said. “Oh man, I can hear you, thank fuck.”

“Oh Jesus, thank god,” said Bucky, and then Clint was being kissed again. “I thought we were gonna be stuck communicating with Morse code and I wouldn’t be able to properly yell at you for letting a goddamn dragon fly off with you.”

“Hey,” said Clint, “I slayed the dragon, don’t I get credit for basically being St George?”

“Not when you also managed to be the damsel in distress,” said Bucky. “You know you’re not allowed to get hurt, it scares the crap out of me.”

Clint snorted. “Seriously? I get my hearing back and we immediately go straight into this argument? So much for my hope of sweet nothings.”

Bucky kissed him again. “You’re a moron and I love you,” he said, which pretty much was a sweet nothing as far as Clint was concerned. Bucky definitely seemed to use ‘moron’ as a pet name, anyway.

Of course, Clint had his own pet names for Bucky. “I love you too, my sexy emo raccoon,” he said, setting his hand on Bucky’s face so that he could feel where to lean in and kiss him, drowning out the inevitable complaint about being called a raccoon.

****

Bucky asked FRIDAY to let the others know about the improvement in Clint’s condition, and then read out the stream of texts they got in response, ranging from cautiously optimistic to unnecessarily over-excited.

Clint’s happiness at getting most of his senses back lasted about as long as they spent making out in bed. As soon as he got up and tried to clean his teeth, shower and get dressed, he realised just how dependent he was going to be on Bucky until his sight came back as well.

And it would come back as well, he wasn’t allowing for any other possible future to exist.

By the time they’d got to the penthouse kitchen and Bucky had helped him to a chair and then gone to make him coffee, Clint’s good mood was completely gone.

Footsteps wandered into the kitchen as he wrapped his hands around a mug and tried to console himself with the smell of coffee.

“Hey, Helen Keller, I hear you’re on your way to recovery,” said Tony’s voice.

“Seriously?” said Clint. “Disability jokes? Classy, Tony.”

There was a pause, then Tony said, “Yeah, okay, that was shitty, but in my defence, I’m running out of fictional archers.”

“You could just use his name,” suggested Bucky, and got a disgusted noise.

“Names? Actual names? Who do you take me for, one of the normal people?”

Clint let out a sigh. “Oh, if only.” He considered the matter for a moment, running over various fictional archers. “Bo and Luke Duke used bows,” he said. “You haven’t used them on me. Plus, rednecks.”

“Oh, come on, it’s no fun if people suggest their own nicknames,” said Tony. He was moving across the kitchen, probably heading for the coffee machine.

There was a clunk as Bucky put some kind of crockery down in front of Clint. “Cereal,” he said. “Do you need help, or-”

“Do not even think about offering to spoon-feed me,” said Clint, fumbling to feel out the location of the bowl and stumbling across a spoon on the way.

“Ten bucks says you end up with milk on your shirt,” said Tony.

There was a scrape from the chair next to Clint as Bucky sat down. “I mean, he does most mornings anyway.”

“Lies, sacrilege, betrayal,” said Clint. “How can my boyfriend speak such slander about me?”

“Yeah, turns out that love ain’t all that blind after all,” said Bucky. “Don’t even think about making a joke, Stark.”

Tony let out a deflated breath. “Come on, you can’t give me that kind of set up and not let me run with it.”

FRIDAY interrupted before Bucky could respond. “Sir, Doctor Strange is asking if he can come over.”

Clint perked up. “Has he worked out how to fix me?” He jiggled his spoon in the excitement and felt it spill. Aw, milk, no.

“He says he’d prefer to update you in person,” said FRIDAY.

“Then he can come over,” said Bucky. “As soon as possible.”

“Okay, this is still my Tower, you know,” said Tony. “Okay, okay, quit glaring at me, of course he can come over, Jesus. You know, Clint, you got yourself quite the rabid guard dog.”

Clint stopped patting at the spilled milk with his sleeve in order to aim a smile roughly in the direction of Bucky. “I know, right? Isn’t he the best?”

There was the distinctive sound of one of Bucky’s long-suffering sighs, then a tissue was being pressed against his hand. “Mop yourself up, moron.”

Clint shrugged. “Nah, screw it. I’ll just put a new shirt on after breakfast.”

“I’ve still got a couple of spare Team Winter Raccoon ones,” said Tony.

“No,” said Bucky, immediately.

“It wouldn’t be worth it if I can’t see his face,” said Clint.

Footsteps and the flap of heavy cloth announced Doctor Strange’s arrival.

“Morning, Steven,” said Tony. “Want some coffee?”

“Please,” said Strange. “It’s been a very long night.”

“You look kinda tired,” agreed Bucky. “Does that mean it’s good news?”

The hesitation before he spoke again said it all. “I’m afraid not. I spent the night going through every book I could find about dragons and their magic, and found nothing. Most texts seemed certain they didn’t have any magic, certainly not in that form.”

“It had a magical force field as well,” said Bucky. “Stopped our shots going through.”

“Yes,” said Strange, slowly. “That’s also highly unusual. I was hoping you might allow me to feel the shape of the spell again, in case the changes this morning provide any clues.”

“Sure,” said Clint, gesturing vaguely at himself. “Go nuts.”

There was silence for a minute or two as Strange did whatever it was he did. It felt like a ripple of water spreading over Clint’s skin. When Strange had finished, he let out a sigh. “Not as helpful as I’d have hoped.”

Clint sighed as well. “Great, so, basically it’s just crossing our fingers and hoping this wears off like the rest of it did?”

“I’m afraid so,” said Strange.

Clint’s shoulders slumped. A moment later there was a hand on his thigh, giving it a comforting squeeze. He put his hand over it to squeeze back. “That better be Bucky and not Tony,” he said.

Bucky snorted. “You’re saying you don’t recognise your own soulmate’s hand?”

“Ah, we all know he’s secretly hoping it is me,” said Tony, his voice moving back across the kitchen. “Why would you want the super-soldier with the abs of steel when you could have all of this?”

“Yeah, I’ll take the abs of steel, thanks,” said Clint. Bucky turned his hand over so that he could cling on properly.

Tony let out a pained sigh. “Why do you have hurt me like this, Barton? Don’t you know how I pine for you?”

Strange cleared his throat. “I will keep looking for information and ask my acquaintances, and if anything turns up I’ll let you know. Keep me updated on any further changes.”

“Of course,” said Bucky, before Clint could even open his mouth. “I’ll get your number from Stark.”

Clint clenched his jaw and resigned himself to spending a few days with Bucky in ultra-protective mode. As much as he appreciated that Bucky only did it because he cared about him, it still drove him up the wall to be mollycoddled every time he was injured.

“Sir, Agent Romanov is asking for permission to land,” said FRIDAY.

“Granted,” said Tony. “That’ll be your ride then, Bo Duke.” He made a pained noise. “Bo Barton? Yeah, no, I can’t get that one working for me, sorry, Cupid.”

“I like Cupid,” said Bucky.

“Because you’re picturing him in nothing but wings and a tiny piece of gauze,” said Tony, clicking his fingers.

“Basically,” agreed Bucky.

Clint leered in his direction. “That could always be arranged.”

“I haven’t had enough sleep for this,” muttered Strange, and there was the clank of a coffee mug being put down. “I suppose I’ll see you the next time one of you gets tangled up in complex magic and you need someone to bail you out.”

“You haven’t exactly bailed us out of this one,” Bucky pointed out.

There was an irritated huff from Strange and Clint stepped in. “We appreciate all your help,” he said. “It’s very kind of you.”

“It’s my job,” said Strange darkly, then finally left.

“He’s always such a joy,” said Tony. “Ah, and here’s another one that’s a joy, good morning Nikita.”

Clint didn’t hear Natasha’s footsteps, but then he hadn’t been expecting to. She didn’t bother replying to Tony. “Clint. You can hear me.”

“Yep,” said Clint, giving a thumbs up in her general direction. “I can hear you, if you wanted to get up close and personal I could touch you, smell you and taste you-”

“I think I’ll skip that for now,” she put in, but he kept going.

“-the only thing I can’t do is see you, but we’re all crossing our fingers that that’s gonna wear off as well, because the official line from the Sorcerer Supreme is that it shouldn’t have been possible for a dragon to curse me like that.”

She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “Magicians.”

“Right,” agreed Clint. “Unless there are any listening in, in which case, they’re a great bunch of guys, just who you want on your side.”

Bucky snorted as he let go of Clint’s hand so that he could stand up. Clint resisted the temptation to clutch hold of him to keep him close and graciously let him go. “You’re taking us back to base, yeah? I’ll get our stuff.”

He walked away, and Clint could tell he was deliberately making sure to walk heavily enough for Clint to hear him. He tried to tell himself that he didn’t appreciate it.

“Don’t forget my bow!” he called after him.

“As if I would,” said Bucky. “I don’t want to get killed in my sleep, you know.”

“I wouldn’t-” started Clint, then considered the matter. “Yeah, okay, I might. And all my arrows, make sure you get all of them.”

His fingers twitched to go and make sure that all his equipment was accounted for, but he made himself stay sitting down. He could trust Bucky to make sure he had it all; if anyone understood an emotional connection with their weaponry, it was him. Well, and Natasha, of course. And Steve, actually, given how he he felt about his shield, and Tony and the suit were a kinda weird symbiotic co-dependent thing that Clint didn’t want to examine too closely.

Still, when Bucky came back, he took his quiver and bow from him and ran his fingers over the shafts, just to make sure everything was in place. He felt better with them in his hands, even if he couldn’t see to shoot right now.

“Are you ever concerned that you come second to a glorified stick and string?” he heard Tony ask Bucky.

Bucky snorted. “You mean, a piece of cutting edge paleolithic technology? Nah, it’s fine. Not like an arrow can give a blowjob, right?”

“You make an excellent point,” said Tony as Natasha heaved out a sigh.

“If we’re all done caressing our weaponry, can we get on our way?”

“Sure,” said Clint, standing up and slinging his bow and quiver on his shoulder. A moment later a hand appeared on his elbow and he fought the urge to smack it away. He was going to need someone to help him make it to the quinjet without walking into any walls, even if all this care and assistance was making his skin crawl.

“See you later,” said Tony. “And here’s hoping you’ll be seeing me later as well, Hawkeye.”

God, Clint hoped that too, so much that it made his throat constrict if he thought about it too much.

So he didn’t. He just kept not thinking about it and making stupid jokes, because he didn’t know how else to deal with this right now. 

“I don’t know, the idea of never having to see your face again might just make staying blind worthwhile.”

“Harsh, so harsh,” said Tony. “You’ll give me a complex, I’ll only be able to go outside with a bag over my head.”

“Or a helmet?” suggested Natasha.

“Ah, touché,” said Tony. “You’ve uncovered my darkest secret. I invented the most advanced, high-tech, incredible flying suit not so that I could use it for the powers of good, but because my low self-esteem makes me want to hide my face at all times.”

“I mean, if I looked like you I’d probably do the same,” said Bucky.

“All right, that’s it, get out,” said Tony. “I’m done with you peons now.”

****

“Steve wanted me to brief you on the PR angle,” said Natasha once the quinjet was in the air.

Clint groaned. “What did you do to make him want to hurt you like that?”

“Apparently the kitchen table isn’t a suitable place to clean your knives after a fight,” said Natasha.

“Bullshit,” said Bucky. He was in the seat next to Clint, leg pressed against his, but he hadn’t touched him beyond that yet. Clint was quietly counting the minutes.

“That’s what I said,” said Natasha. “And now I’m in charge of managing the PR for this incident. For a symbol of truth and justice, he can sometimes be a little petty.”

“You’re telling me,” muttered Bucky. There was a shift of clothing but he didn’t touch Clint. Probably crossing his arms, which would add a minute or two before he reached for Clint.

“What PR even is there?” asked Clint. “Dragon was threatening Manhattan. Avengers fought dragon, best Avenger took dragon out like a boss, everyone’s happy.”

“Yeah, not so much,” said Natasha. “For one thing, it was a pretty public fight, so the media got a lot of footage of the dragon, of it taking you up in the air and dropping you, Sam catching you-”

“It was Sam that got me?” interrupted Clint. “He’s the best, I’ll have to buy him a cake or something.” You had to be able to get, like, a dragon-shaped cake or something, right?

“He was the closest,” said Natasha. “He brought you down to the street, so Bucky did some extremely dangerous parkour to get down to you, which there is also film of-”

“Unnecessary risks,” said Clint, tutting and nudging Bucky with his elbow. 

Natasha carried on with determination, “-they had a bad angle on where Sam set you down, so all you can really see of you waking up is Bucky giving you a hug, but the shot of Bucky picking you up in his arms and jogging to the quinjet with a panicked look on his face is particularly nicely framed.”

“Panicked?” repeated Clint.

“Shuddup, you try keeping a media-friendly expression when your soulmate is freaking out,” muttered Bucky, sounding uncomfortable.

Damnit, and this was why Clint shouldn’t make bets with himself; somehow he always ended up losing on both sides. Screw waiting for Bucky to touch him. He reached out until he could feel Bucky’s hand, then took it in his, because he wasn’t going to let his soulmate sound like that and not do anything.

“They also know that the quinjet took you to the Tower and not back to base,” continued Natasha, “so they’ve been extrapolating all sorts of injuries on the 24hr news channels all through the night. Erika put out a statement last night saying that you’d been released from medical care with bruised ribs, but it hasn’t really calmed them down at all.”

The idea that the general public were so concerned about him that it would warrant so much fuss from the media was something Clint still wasn’t used to. “We’re not telling them about the magic thing?”

“No,” said Natasha firmly. “Not unless it turns out to be permanent. It’s not the kind of thing they need to know.”

That made Clint feel better. He could handle the public knowing he’d fucked his ribs up again, but the idea of having the whole country speculating on whether or not he’d get his eyesight back made him feel sick.

“But Erika does want us to do something to prove you’re not at death’s door,” she added, and Clint sighed.

“I don’t know why they never seem to believe our PR statements. We only lie on eighty percent of them.”

“This is your own fault, you know,” said Bucky. “All those videos of you shooting, with your biceps and your grin. You’ve made half the country fall in love with you.”

“My biceps do tend to have that effect,” agreed Clint, raising an arm so that he could flex them. “Wait, Erika doesn’t want me to do a video now, does she?”

He could hit a target blindfolded, so with a bit of finangling he could probably hit one blind, but it wouldn’t be that impressive to anyone who didn’t know he couldn’t see right now. There was no way he was going to be able to do any tricks.

“No,” said Natasha. “Well, she probably does, you know how she loves them, she just asked Wanda to put a photo on her Instagram.”

After the success of Clint’s Youtube channel, Erika had gathered them all for a special meeting on social media and how great it would be if they could all get accounts, as long as they let her carefully vet everything before they posted it. Only Wanda had bothered, setting herself up on Instagram so that she could post the occasional photo of the latest book she was reading or a nice view or, most often, some snippet of Avenger life that Erika had decided would humanise them.

“Arrival of the dragon-slayer?” asked Clint. “Yeah, okay, fine.”

Natasha cleared her throat. “We won’t be calling it that,” she said. “The other PR fall-out has been a backlash against us for killing a dragon.”

“Are you shitting me?” asked Bucky. “That thing tried to kill Clint! Hell, it tried to kill all of us, and would have taken out civilians as well if they hadn’t been evacuated in time.”

“Yes,” agreed Natasha. “Unfortunately, a lot of people in this country grew up reading young adult fantasy novels in which dragons were beautiful, noble, _sentient_ creatures and refuse to believe that putting down a rampaging killer animal is the best idea. A whole bunch of other people think that we were slaughtering one of the few remaining examples of an endangered species, and then PETA got in on it and. Well. There’s a reason Steve threw this one at me and then ran away laughing.”

“Was he actually laughing?” asked Clint.

“He had a smirk,” said Natasha, in a dark tone that said the smirk had been noted on the ‘pro’ side of her ‘Should I Go On A Rampage And Kill All My Co-Workers?’ list.

“So, wait, I’m not allowed to boast about being a dragon-slayer?” asked Clint. “Aw, c’mon, that was going to be at the top of my obituary.”

“No talking about your obituary,” said Bucky, squeezing tighter at Clint’s hand.

“I thought that was only when I was in mortal danger?” asked Clint.

“You’re still under the effect of a curse we don’t understand and can’t stop,” said Bucky. “Seems like enough danger to me.”

And there was the over-protectiveness again. Excellent.

****

Wanda put a photo on Instagram of Clint and Bucky drinking coffee together on one of the sofas in the main room, which somehow managed to feel posed even though they did exactly that at least once a day.

“Let’s see if you can get more likes than the one of those kittens in Cap’s shield,” she said.

“Unfair competition,” said Clint. “I mean, c’mon. _Kittens_.”

“Are you saying I’m not as cute as a kitten?” asked Bucky, with mock outrage. “Where’s the love gone?”

“I think it probably died around the same time as you started bitching about my dirty socks,” said Clint.

There was a telling pause then, through gritted teeth, Bucky said, “We have a perfectly good laundry hamper, why the hell do you think your socks need to be just dropped all over our rooms?”

Oh man, Clint should not have brought this up again. Except. “It’s not ‘all over’, it’s by the sofa, because that’s where I take them off. It’s not like I wasn’t going to put them in the hamper, you just always get there first, with your neatfreak ways and your tutting and all that _fussing_.”

“O-kay,” said Wanda, and Clint heard her stand up. “I’m just gonna...go be somewhere else.”

“Fussing,” repeated Bucky, darkly. “ _Fussing_. It’s not fussing to not want to live in a goddamn pigsty.”

Clint opened his mouth to retort, then took a deep breath instead. They’d already had this fight, several times, he wasn’t going to get dragged into it again. Not right now when he couldn’t see anything and was terrified that he was going to be stuck like this for good. “Can we just not right now?”

There was a tired sigh. “Yeah, okay,” said Bucky, then Clint felt him in lean in closer and tuck an arm around him instead. “Want to-?” He started, then clearly realised that all the things they’d usually do to unwind after something stressful weren’t going to work if Clint couldn’t see. “Shit.”

“Yep,” said Clint, popping the P between his lips. “Can’t spar, can’t go to the range, can’t play a game, can’t even watch a fucking movie. This is going to be a really long day.”

And a really long life if the blindness didn’t wear off. The realisation sent a wave of grey misery rolling through him as he realised just how much of his life he’d have to give up if this didn’t go away. “Fuck,” he muttered. “Oh, fuck.” He set his mug down and curled over to rest against Bucky’s chest. His ribs twinged at the movement, but he ignored them. They were extremely low down his list of priorities right now.

Bucky’s arms wrapped around him. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay,” he said, kissing Clint.

Clint clung on and kissed him back until the sharp wave of panic had faded, then pulled away to rest his forehead against Bucky’s. “I mean, I guess we can still have sex, right?”

“Definitely,” agreed Bucky. “In fact…” He pulled away and stood up, keeping hold of Clint’s hand and giving him a tug until he joined him. “That sounds like an excellent way to pass the time.”

Clint slid an arm around his waist. “I mean, if we can’t go to the range, it’ll do.”

****

They spent the rest of the morning in bed, only making themselves get back up and dressed when it was time for lunch. Clint would have probably been happy to stay where they were, but Bucky didn’t react well to missing meals. He got all grumpy, and then even more grumpy if it was pointed out.

The whole team was there for lunch, plus Bruce, who now joined them for most of the meals that he wasn’t holed up in his lab for. Clint hadn’t properly realised just how much he relied on visual clues to help his hearing aids separate out the sounds of a table full of people talking. Keeping track of the conversation when he couldn’t see turned out to be nearly impossible, so he gave up and just focused on making sure he didn’t drop any food down himself.

After the meal was over and most people were wandering off to whatever afternoon plans they had, except for Vision and Sam who were on clean-up duty, Clint stood up and carefully felt his way over to the nearest sofa, then realised he had no idea what to do now.

“Hey, Buck, do you want to go spar?” he heard Steve ask, and paused to hear Bucky’s answer.

“Not right now,” said Bucky, sounding a lot closer than Clint had realised. He must be hovering right next to him, probably wearing the twisted-up, worried expression that he always got when Clint was sick or injured and there was nothing he could do.

Fuck that. “Go spar,” said Clint. “I don’t need you to babysit me.”

There was a hesitation and he turned towards where Bucky’s voice had been, holding the back of the sofa to keep his bearings. “Don’t you fucking dare. Just go and fucking spar, we both know you want to.”

“I want to make sure you’re okay more,” said Bucky.

Clint reached out to where Bucky’s voice was coming from, touched his fingers to his chest for a moment to confirm where it was, then gave him a shove. “What the fuck do you think is going to happen? Seriously? I’m maybe gonna stub a toe, or get kinda bored, but that’s not something I need you hanging all over me to prevent. All that’s gonna happen is you’ll get bored as well.”

“I won’t get bored,” snapped Bucky. “I’ll be hanging out with my soulmate.”

“Nope,” said Clint. “You get fidgety when you don’t get to the gym at least once a day, hell, we both do, but it’s not like I can go spar right now anyway. You know how snippy the doctors get if you try and do any exercise with fucked up ribs. Which is all the more reason you should go spar for both of us.”

Bucky made a huffy noise. “Jesus, fine, if you’re that keen to get rid of me.”

“I am,” said Clint. He flapped his hands at him. “Go beat your best friend up, you know it’ll make you feel better.”

“More likely his best friend will be beating him up,” put in Steve.

“No chance,” said Bucky. He took Clint’s hands in his. “Okay, okay, quit glaring at me like that, I’m going. If you manage to fall down a manhole while I’m gone though, I’m gonna say I told you so.”

“Where the hell am I going to find a manhole?” asked Clint.

Bucky squeezed his hands, then dropped them as he moved away. “If anyone could, it would be you.”

Clint tried to summon a sense of indignation at that, but he had a feeling Bucky was probably right.

After Bucky and Steve had gone, Clint stayed where he was for a moment, wondering what to do now. Was he going to be able to make the adjustments to his new arrows that he’d been planning without being able to see them? Probably not.

“I wonder if I could ask you for a favour,” said Bruce, and Clint turned to where his voice was coming from. He’d assumed Bruce would have slipped off back to his lab as soon as lunch was over, like he normally did.

“Bruce! Bruce, Bruce, Bruce the Spruce,” he said. “How can I help you?”

“Bruce the Spruce?” repeated Bruce, and that was exactly why Clint always did his best to find a new nickname for him, because he was so damn long-suffering about it, every time. “Spruce?”

Clint shrugged. “Big, green and dangerous?”

There was a familiar sigh. “Okay, I’ll bite. What exactly is so dangerous about a spruce?”

“One broke my arm once,” said Clint. 

There was a pause. “A tree broke your arm.”

“Well, okay,” said Clint. “Falling out of a spruce broke my arm, but I still hold that the tree is to blame.” Okay, and maybe the drug smugglers who had been shooting at him at the time, but he wasn’t going to mention that.

“I’m not sure how you think I’m as dangerous as a spruce then,” said Bruce. “I’ve never broken your arm.”

“You make a good point,” said Clint. “Bruce the goose, then. They’re less dangerous than spruces. Slightly.” That got him an even bigger sigh, which made him grin. “Okay, okay, so, you wanted a favour?” 

“Yes,” said Bruce. “Doctor Cho sent me all the data they gathered when they were examining you yesterday, but obviously things have changed since then, and they were only doing normal medical tests anyway.”

Clint groaned. “You want to poke and prod me some more.”

“Sorry,” said Bruce. “If it helps, I’ll give you coffee while I’m doing it? It’s just, I’ve been trying to find the line between science and magic, work out if scientific methods can be applied to magic to decipher precisely how it works, and this presents a unique opportunity.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Clint. He stretched out his hand. “Give me your arm then, help a blind guy out.”

Being the subject of doctors and scientists was one of Clint’s least favourite ways to spend an afternoon, but Bruce was usually pretty good at not being a complete dick at it and, well. Coffee.

****

Bruce ran a whole series of tests, some of which he explained to Clint, some of which he was so distracted during that all Clint got was science mumbling, which was a language he’d never learned to speak.

Clint had to feel his way along the walls back to his and Bucky’s rooms, where he slumped on the sofa and listened to an episode of _Dog Cops_ he’d seen often enough not to need the visuals. He couldn’t seem to concentrate on it enough to stop constantly checking to see if his eyesight was coming back. He waved his hand in front of his eyes, shut out the light with his palms and then blinked wide open, but there was never any difference in the darkness that surrounded him.

Bucky came back and headed straight for the shower. When he came out of the bathroom, Clint heard his footsteps pause in the doorway, and then a barely-there sigh.

“Your socks are on the floor again.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “Okay, but, I’m less than a metre from them, so technically they’re still with me.”

“You’ll forget they’re there,” said Bucky. “You forget about them when you can see them, you’ll definitely forget them now you can’t.”

“Nah,” said Clint. “I’ll need them to go get dinner.”

Bucky gave a tired laugh, then moved closer until he was next to the sofa. “Clint, you go to dinner with bare feet at least three times a week.” He patted at Clint’s knee and Clint obligingly pulled his legs back so that he could sit down, then replaced them over the top of his lap.

“Yeah, okay,” admitted Clint. “Look, I just don’t like wearing socks when I’m chilling on the sofa. I’ve been taking them off and dumping them on the floor like that for pretty much my whole life.”

“I know,” said Bucky. “I know, I get it, I get that I’m maybe a bit too worried about things being tidy. It just bugs me, is all. I used to get at Steve about it when we shared rooms and he left sketchbooks all over.”

“Guess that means the honeymoon period is over,” said Clint, “if we’re finding each other’s habits irritating now.”

“Well, it has been nearly a year,” said Bucky.

“A year?” repeated Clint. “Bullshit, no way.”

“Yep,” said Bucky. “Week after next, it’ll have been a year since we activated.”

Clint took a moment to let that sink in. How the hell had a whole year passed since he’d sat up on the roof and freaked the fuck out because his soulmate was the Winter Soldier?

“We’ve done pretty well,” he said.

Bucky laughed. “Oh, sure. Three kidnappings, two brainwashings, four broken bones…”

“The toe doesn’t count,” said Clint. “And, anyway, you should think of the good things. The farm’s mostly all fixed up, you’re a fully-fledged Avenger and haven’t had any brain glitches for months, we’ve managed to top Sam and Steve as the most adorable couple in the Avengers, and I retired for nearly a whole month.”

“And then became a Youtube sensation,” pointed out Bucky.

Clint snorted. “And you got acknowledged as a _genuine 1940s pin-up_.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” said Bucky.

Clint could feel Bucky’s hand curled around his ankle, gently stroking over his leg, as silence settled down over them.

“And I went blind,” he added, quietly, after a minute had passed.

“It’ll come back,” said Bucky. “This time next year it’ll just be another thing on the list. Along with another eight broken bones, probably.”

“It’s your turn to break bones this year,” said Clint.

“Sure,” said Bucky, deceptively easily. “You can have the brainwashing, then.”

Clint winced. “Maybe not. Oh, wait, hey,” he poked at Bucky’s stomach with his toes, “no one will get the brainwashing, because we fixed that. That definitely needs to be on the good list.”

“True,” agreed Bucky. “Okay, maybe it has been a pretty good year. Despite me having a soulmate who drops dirty socks like confetti.”

“I think you mean, a soulmate who slays dragons,” said Clint. “I mean, c’mon. An actual fucking dragon. Why is no one impressed by that?”

Bucky shifted, moving until he was stretched out over the top of Clint. He kept his weight off Clint’s chest, which his ribs appreciated even if Clint would have quite liked to have the familiar and comforting sensation of Bucky’s body blanketed over him.

“I am impressed,” said Bucky, and pressed a lip to Clint’s lips. “It was pretty fucking incredible, just got a bit drowned out by the way you plummeted unconscious through the air immediately afterwards.”

“Eh,” said Clint. “I knew one of the others would catch me. It’s not like they haven’t all done it before. Several times.”

Bucky sighed, dropping his head to press into Clint’s shoulder. “One day we should have a conversation about your habit of falling from great heights.”

Clint found his head with his hand and stroked over his hair. “Maybe when it’s been ten years, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay,” said Bucky. “Ten years sounds good.”

Clint thought about having spent a whole decade with Bucky, with this deep down feeling of contentment and completeness, of knowing that he’d been loved for that long by someone who was never going to change his mind about the whole thing. “Yeah,” he agreed softly, then tugged at Bucky’s hair until his lips were in range for him to kiss.

****

The next morning, he opened his eyes and could see.

“Oh! Fuck, yes!” he shouted, not giving a fuck how loud it was. He sat up with enough speed to make his ribs ache, and looked around for Bucky. The bed beside him was empty. “Bucky! Bucky, get in here!”

Bucky appeared in the doorway to the bathroom, toothbrush in his mouth, and Clint beamed at him. “Oh, thank fuck, you’re still as insanely hot as you were two days ago.”

Bucky said something around the toothbrush that Clint didn’t have a hope of lipreading, and which he promptly ignored. He leapt up out of the bed. “Let me look at you up close, make sure even the small things are the same.”

Bucky pulled the toothbrush out and chucked it back into the sink, coming towards Clint at the same time. Clint wrapped him up in his arms and took hold of his face, running his eyes over every inch of it. Fuck, he’d missed looking at him so much.

He ran a finger along the line of Bucky’s jaw, then up through his hair, taking in the subtle changes in his hair colour where the light hit it. He clearly hadn’t showered yet and his mouth was stained with toothpaste, and he was the most beautiful thing Clint had ever seen.

“Oh, thank fuck,” he said again, and fell into Bucky’s arms. “Oh god, I was so afraid I wasn’t going to see you again.”

Bucky’s arms wrapped around him, clearly trying to be gentle in deference to Clint’s ribs, which Clint didn’t give a shit about right now. He could see! 

Bucky kissed him, which Clint kept his eyes open for, just because he could. It tasted heavily of toothpaste.

When they pulled apart, Bucky let go of Clint so that he could sign to him. _Is your vision completely okay? No blurriness or dark spots or anything?_

“It’s completely fine,” said Clint said. “Back to how it was. Or, at least, it seems like it, I guess there’s only one way to properly check.”

_An optician?_ asked Bucky.

Clint rolled his eyes. “Nah, don’t be an idiot.” He darted across the room to pick up his bow, clinging to it as the burning relief that he was actually going to be able to use it again ran through him. “We’re going to the range.”

Bucky’s amusement had turned into a full-blown grin now, one Clint couldn’t help reflecting back. _I’m gonna assume mentioning your ribs right now won’t end well for me, but maybe get dressed first?_

Clint rolled his eyes. As if a little thing like bruised ribs would stop him shooting right now. “If you think I have to. I don’t see why anyone would complain about seeing all this, though.” He gestured at himself, putting a hand on one hip to strike a pose.

_I wouldn’t, but you might get a bit cold,_ said Bucky.

He probably had a point. Clint pulled on the nearest clothes as quickly as he could, then grabbed his aids and put them in. He didn’t want to waste a single second that he could be at the range, communing with his bow.

Which, of course, meant that the batteries in his aids had died and he had to go searching for some charged ones, which took longer than it should have because the first set he found seemed to be dead as well.

“Oh, come on,” he muttered, ripping open the nightstand drawer in the hopes of finding another set. “I swear I’m not this bad at remembering to charge them.”

He was tempted to just leave them and head over there deaf, but he’d spent enough time down at least one sense over the last couple of days. He wanted to spend the day revelling in having input from as many of his senses as he could.

He found an old set of aids before he found more batteries and put them in instead, but there was still no sound coming to him.

“Fuck,” he muttered, and ripped them out, throwing them back in the drawer. “What the fuck, why does nothing work?”

Bucky tapped his arm and Clint turned to see he was holding his aids. _Clint, these are working. I’ve checked the batteries, and they’re all full._

The bottom dropped out of Clint’s stomach. “Oh, no. No. I won’t...No!” He grabbed the aids from Bucky’s hand and checked them over, then fitted them into his ears with shaking hands. “Say something,” he said to Bucky. “C’mon, say something!”

“I love you,” said Bucky, but Clint only knew because that was a familiar enough phrase for him to easily lipread. Not a single sound came through to him.

“Fuck!” he shouted, but he couldn’t hear that either.

He turned around desperately, then grabbed the lamp off the nightstand and threw it at the wall as hard as he could. It hit the wall and shattered with what must have been an almighty crash from the way Bucky flinched, but nothing came through to Clint at all.

“Fuck, fuck, FUCK,” he shouted. This wasn’t fair, he’d got his eyes back, it was meant to be over.

Bucky stepped closer and put his arms around him and Clint buried his face into his shoulder and held on, trying to choke back the threatening tears. 

They stood like that for a long time while Clint forced his emotions back down. This wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened, it wasn’t like he didn’t know how to function without his hearing already. It was just that he’d got used to being able to rely on his hearing aids so that he’d been able to ignore it for most of the time.

“Do you think it’s going to keep happening?” he asked Bucky. “I’m gonna keep waking up not knowing which senses are going to be working?”

He felt Bucky shrug underneath his head and pulled away so that he could see his face. “I hope not,” said Bucky, not letting go of Clint to sign it. “Maybe you’ll wake up tomorrow and it’ll all be fine.”

Clint snorted. “That’s what we said yesterday,” he reminded him.

The lights flashed and Bucky glanced over his shoulder, which meant someone was knocking at the door. Probably someone who was actually able to hear a smashing lamp and a lot of shouting. Clint let out a sigh and stepped back. “Let them in,” he said. “I’m just gonna…” he gestured at the bathroom, then disappeared into it, shutting the door to give himself some privacy.

He turned the faucet on then just stood for a moment, watching the water swirl down the drain. When he headed out, he was going to have to have his head together enough to put on a good face for the rest of the team. It was going to take him a couple of minutes to manage that.


	3. Chapter 3

They didn’t get to the range until after lunch. First the doctors checked Clint over, with about as much success as the ones at the Tower, then Bruce asked if he could run a couple of follow-up tests, and finally Doctor Strange came back over so that he and Wanda could do some things that involved a lot of glowing lights and worried frowns.

None of them were able to give Clint any further information than they had before, that something magic had been done to him and no one knew exactly what, if it would wear off, or what it was going to do next.

Bucky spent the whole morning right beside Clint, scowling at anyone who got close. Clint didn’t have the energy to find it irritating, although he could have done without being made to feel like a child who needed a protector.

When it was for lunch, they got to the common area to find that someone had ordered pizza, which was a fairly obvious attempt to cheer him up. It didn’t work all that well because, even with everyone making an effort to sign along with what they were saying, he still found himself missing half the conversation. In the end, he gave up on keeping track and just concentrated on stuffing as much pizza into himself as he could, then sloped off to head for the range.

Bucky followed after him, but Clint ignored him. He was done with other people right now. He settled into shooting, letting the familiar, repetitive motion drown out the angry swirl of emotions in his chest.

Bucky set himself up at the rifle target next to Clint’s archery one and did the same, which Clint found a lot easier to ignore than he did all the worried hovering.

After a couple of hours, Bucky set his gun down then turned to Clint. _Ready to go in?_ he signed.

Clint shook his head. His ribs were aching, but he wasn’t interested in walking away right now, not when his emotions were still such a mess.

Bucky frowned. _You’re going to strain your ribs._

Anger burst through Clint. _Fuck off_ , he signed back, slinging his bow over his shoulder so that he could give the words the full vehemence he was feeling. _I can make my own fucking decision on that, I don’t need a nanny._

Bucky held his hands up defensively. _I’m just looking out for you._

_Go and look out for someone else,_ said Clint. _I’m fine._

_You’re going to exhaust yourself,_ said Bucky.

For a moment, Clint was very close to throwing something at him, but he took a deep breath and turned back to the range instead, pulling his bow off his shoulder and going back to shooting without responding. He was itchingly aware of Bucky continuing to hover but purposefully didn’t look at him so that he couldn’t communicate.

After a minute or two, Bucky left, heading back up the base, and Clint felt himself relax as the sensation of being under scrutiny faded away.

He shot for another half an hour, and then reluctantly admitted to himself that fucking up his ribs by over-shooting right now was probably not a great idea. He headed inside and put his bow away, then went to the gym because, fuck it, he was still feeling antsy as hell and needed to bleed the energy out somehow.

Bucky and Steve were in there sparring, although Bucky stopped as soon as Clint came in.

_Okay?_ he signed.

_Peachy_ , returned Clint. He was starting to feel kinda bad about how he’d snapped at the guy earlier, but he wasn’t yet calm enough to apologise.

Steve sent him a concerned frown. _We’ll work this out, Hawkeye,_ he signed.

Ah, the unshakable confidence of Captain America. Clint just gave him a wave of acknowledgement and went over to a treadmill that was positioned so that his back would be towards them. That way he could ignore any worried looks that got sent over.

****

By dinner time, he’d managed to complete wear out his body with exercise, and his ribs were throbbing with the pain that he was using to block out his messy emotions. Sitting at the dinner table and letting the conversation wash over him didn’t frustrate him in the same way that it had at lunch because he was so exhausted he probably wouldn’t have been paying attention anyway. Bucky sat next to him but didn’t try and start a conversation, although he did casually set a bottle of Clint’s pain pills down on the table between them.

Clint downed two, then moved his leg to press against Bucky’s, catching his eyes. _Sorry,_ he signed.

_Don’t worry about it,_ said Bucky. _I’d be freaking out too. Hell, I am freaking out._

Clint twitched his hand towards his print, then stopped himself. He didn’t need to read the guy when he was sitting right there next to him and he could see the truth of that in his eyes.

Bucky gave him a smirk that meant he’d seen the aborted movement. _Go ahead. It’s not like I haven’t been tracking you most of the day._

Yeah, Clint had kinda assumed he’d been doing that. He touched his finger to his print and felt Bucky’s emotions open up in the back of his mind. Worry was definitely the main one, along with a surge of anger that was fresher than the old rage that still lay buried underneath everything else, even after over a year of being free from Hydra. There was also affection though, and an undercurrent of resolve.

“What are you planning?” asked Clint, using his voice so that he could keep his finger on his print. Bucky frowned at him as if he had no idea what he meant. Clint raised an eyebrow. “I can feel your determination.”

Bucky blinked and then gave a sort of shrug, clearly trying to downplay it. _Just, thought we could maybe take a couple of beers up to the roof and chill out after dinner._

For the first since that morning, Clint found a smile on his face. _Yeah, okay. Sounds good._

****

Sitting up on the roof had become one of their little habits. Clint relaxed against Bucky, letting him put an arm around his shoulders. “So, how do you think I’ll wake up tomorrow?”

Bucky shrugged, then clearly realised the problem with his position as he pulled his arm away to sign an answer. _In the dark, unless we manage to find a new lamp somewhere._

Clint had forgotten about that. “Did anyone clear that up? Shit, I don’t want to be stumbling around on broken glass in the dark.”

_I did when I left the range,_ said Bucky. He hesitated, then added, _And cleared up your socks._

Clint sighed. Of course he fucking had. “If I’ve got all my senses when I wake up, I’ll do some tidying.”

_Don’t worry about it,_ said Bucky. _I’m pretty content to spend the rest of our lives picking up your socks for you._

He paused and his hand went to pat his pocket, then his head turned sharply towards the hatch. Clint followed his gaze to see Wanda and Bruce climbing up.

“Oh, hey guys,” he said, waving at them.

Through his shoulder, he could feel Bucky let out a deep sigh. Yeah, he kinda hated that their private place had become well-known as well.

_We want to try something,_ signed Wanda, heading over to them. _I thought I might be able to-_ She stopped and made a face. _No signs for it, sorry. Magic thing._

“Okay,” said Clint, slowly. “And is it going to help?”

She wavered her hand. _Maybe. Will help us map it._

Right. Clint wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but at this point he was ready to try anything, so he pulled away from Bucky and stood up. “How do you want me?”

_Just stay still,_ said Wanda, then took a deep breath as her hands began to glow red. Clint braced himself as she held them over him, red light beaming out to surround him. Ugh, he hated magic, even when it was wielded by someone he trusted as much as he trusted Wanda.

“Be calm,” whispered Wanda’s voice in his head. “I’m just looking.”

Clint forced himself to stand still as the tingle of her magic passed over him. It took a long time and, from the look on her face, a lot of concentration, until she finally opened her eyes and let the magic fade away.

“Were we right?” he saw Bruce ask her.

She shook her head. “I don’t know. It’s not clear.” 

Bucky had stood up while Wanda was working, and he took a step forward at that. “What does that mean?” he asked, signing along with his words.

Wanda gave Clint a helpless look. “I can sense the curse on you,” she said, also signing along as she spoke, although she didn’t know the word for ‘curse’. “It’s there, all tangled up around your ears, eyes, mouth, nose and layered over your skin. It doesn’t feel like it’s fading at all, just...lying there. It’s strongest over your ears, which would make sense, but…” she hesitated. “I’m sorry, Clint, I don’t think it’s going to wear off on its own.”

The words felt like a blow, although Clint hoped that didn’t show on his face. He nodded, clenching his hands into fists. “I guess that was a bit optimistic. So it’s, what? Going to stay on my ears, or keep moving around?”

Wanda shrugged. “I don’t know, but if I were to guess, I’d say it will keep changing.”

Right. So every morning was going to be an exciting adventure in ‘what can’t I do today?’ That sounded like it was going to get very old, very fast.

“There must be some way to fix it,” said Bucky. “If you can sense it, surely you can remove it?”

Wanda shook her head. “It’s not that easy. I’m not saying we won’t be able to fix it, but I can’t see a way to do that at the moment.”

“Right,” said Clint. Fuck. This was how it had felt when the audiologist told him he wasn’t going to get most of his hearing back after the explosion. Why the fuck did this shit always end up happening to him? “Okay, well, let me know if you make any breakthroughs, I guess.” He turned back to Bucky, who was glaring at Wanda as if that were going to help. He poked him. “Don’t blame the messenger.”

Bucky blinked and the expression changed about three degrees, into a scowl. “Yeah, I know,” he said. “It’s just fucking shit.”

“Yep,” agreed Clint. He glanced at the edge of the roof where they had been sitting and suddenly couldn’t face it any longer. “Okay, you know what? I’m going to bed.”

Bucky blinked with surprise, but Clint wasn’t going to stick about for a debate about it. He just wanted to get into bed and curl up with his misery. He didn’t have the energy to do anything else today.

****

That night, he had more nightmares than he’d had in one night since before he’d activated with Bucky, jolting awake from images of his father’s angry face and managing to strain his aching ribs every single time he did. Damnit, he really had overdone it today. He wondered what was feeding into his nightmares more: the dull ache of bruises or the reminder of what it had been like when he lost his hearing the first time around.

After every dream, he tried his best to just roll over so he could wrap an arm around Bucky or snuggle close enough to prop his head against his shoulder, and push it all away with the reminder that his dad had been dead for decades, that he was loved now, and strong enough to take out anyone who tried to hurt him like that. He’d taken out a dragon, after all.

It didn’t work all that well in combination with the sick thrum in his stomach as he tried not to think about what this curse might do to him next. What if he woke up and he had none of his senses again, and they never came back?

He was drawing in short, sharp breaths and trying to calm the fuck down when Bucky rolled over. In the faint light coming from the security lights outside he could see the dark gleam of his eyes. Bucky ran a hand over Clint’s head, through his hair, and the tenderness was almost too much for Clint’s frayed emotions.

“Fuck,” he said. “Bucky, I don’t know if I can handle this.”

Bucky immediately moved closer to wrap him up in his arms and Clint pressed his face into his skin, taking a few more shuddering breaths as sobs threatened to overwhelm him. Fuck, this middle of the night crap was always the worst to deal with.

Bucky’s hand ran down his arm to his print and pressed against it, and a flow of love and support ran into him. For some reason, that was what made the dam break, and Clint collapsed into floods of tears, giving up on trying to hold back. He hated this, he hated being helpless and vulnerable and not knowing how to fix himself. He’d spent his whole life working to make sure he never felt like that again but here he was, right back where he’d been when he was a kid.

Bucky just held him close and kept his finger on his print, all his affection flowing through Clint until his tears calmed and he found himself falling back to sleep.

“I love you,” he muttered as his eyes shut, although he had no idea if Bucky could hear him or not.

When he woke up the next morning, he kept his eyes squeezed shut. He didn’t want to know yet if he was blind again, or still completely deaf, or if something else horrible was going to be happening.

There was a movement behind him and a hand rested on his shoulder for a moment, which meant Bucky knew he was awake. Somehow, he always knew when Clint was awake.

Bucky shifted closer and then wrapped both arms around Clint, kissing the back of his neck. Well, at least Clint could feel that. He stayed as he was for a moment longer, then the temptation was too much and he rolled over to run his hand through Bucky’s hair and finally cracked open his eyes. To his relief, he was met with the sight of Bucky’s face.

“Morning,” Bucky said. Clint couldn’t hear his tone, but he could see the uncertainty around his eyes. Clint wasn’t the only one feeling wary about what senses he was going to have this morning.

For some reason that made him feel better, and he leaned in to kiss Bucky good morning.

And immediately got an answer on what he was missing. “Oh fuck,” he said, pulling away from Bucky as he realised that he couldn’t taste a single part of the kiss. “Aw, tastebuds, no.”

He brought his hand up to scrub at his tongue, but did absolutely nothing other than to make it clear just how useless it currently was.

Bucky said something, but Clint wasn’t paying enough attention to lipread, so he repeated it in sign. _You can’t taste?_

“Yep,” said Clint, sitting up and rubbing at his face. “Fuck. Well, could be worse, I guess. Has been worse, actually.”

Bucky sat up and grabbed his aids, shoving them into his hand. _Is it only one at a time?_

Clint tucked the aids in his ears and was relieved when he was then able to hear Bucky saying, “Clint?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, okay, I can hear, I can see, I can feel…” he paused to take a moment to actually pay attention to the input coming from his nose, and realised he could smell the fabric conditioner on the bedsheets. “And I can smell,” he added. “It’s good, it’s just taste, I can totally live without that one. Right? Right.”

Except he was already thinking about how disappointing his morning coffee was going to be, how he’d saved some cold pizza from yesterday for breakfast that just wasn’t going to be the same now, and what a difference it made to kissing Bucky when he couldn’t taste him.

He let himself fall backwards onto the bed. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” agreed Bucky. He rolled over to brace himself over Clint, kissing his forehead.

Clint shut his eyes and took a deep breath before he opened them again. “Are you gonna judge me if I just stay in bed today?”

“Nope,” said Bucky. “Are you gonna judge me if I stay with you?”

“Nope,” said Clint, and Bucky dropped his head to press his face into Clint’s neck. Clint put a hand on his hair and stroked down over it.

He hadn’t had Bucky when he’d lost his hearing for the second time, after the explosion. He wondered now what it would have been like if he had.

They lay like that for long enough for Clint to drift back to sleep. Well, fuck it, it wasn’t as if there was anything to be awake for, right?

When he woke up again, Bucky had moved to sit up against the headboard and was frowning at his phone.

Clint groaned. “Please tell me there’s nothing on there that means we have to get out of bed?”

Aw, he’d fallen asleep with his aids still in. He sat up so that he could rub at his ears.

“No,” said Bucky. “But Natasha wasn’t wrong about the media backlash about the dragon. I just don’t get why the public are so anti us actually dealing effectively with threats.”

“Maybe we shoulda let it burn up a few civilians to make sure everyone knew it was dangerous,” said Clint.

“Yeah, I think we’da got in trouble for that as well,” said Bucky. He made a face, then flicked off his phone and tossed on the nightstand. “Fuck it, that’s Steve and Nat’s problem.”

“Bonus of being a peon,” agreed Clint. He slumped sideways into Bucky, wriggling until Bucky put an arm around him, then let out a sigh and dropped his head onto his chest.

“Rule number twenty-three in the Avengers handbook. No one is exempt from PR duties, not even peons,” said Bucky.

“You read it?” asked Clint.

Bucky shrugged. “Someone had to. I knew you wouldn’t.”

Yeah, that was probably a good point. “Well, was there anything worth finding out about?”

“Mostly just common sense stuff, some things that no one is going to be doing so you needn’t worry about, and then a couple of bits in bold that Erika clearly put in.”

“Let me guess,” said Clint. “No scowling at the media.”

“I don’t even do that anymore,” muttered Bucky. “Well, not much.”

“And you mostly did it in a sexy way anyway, “ agreed Clint.

Bucky shifted so that he could raise an eyebrow at Clint. “Mostly? Are you saying there’s stuff I don’t do in a sexy way?”

Clint considered that. It took a while to run through all the things that Bucky looked sexy as fuck while doing. “Cleaning up my dirty socks,” he said, eventually.

“Bullshit,” said Bucky. “You think I ain’t noticed you checking out my ass while I’m bending over?”

He made a good point. Clint shrugged. “Guess you’re pretty much always sexy then.”

“Exactly,” said Bucky. “Don’t doubt me again.” His hand was smoothing up and down Clint’s back, trailing lightly around the bruises the dragon had left behind. It was making Clint sleepy again.

“I know I’m never gonna doubt you,” added Bucky after a few minutes had passed. “You’re pretty much the foundation for everything in my life.”

Clint raised his head to look at him. Bucky was giving him a weirdly serious look, so he sat up properly, turning to face Bucky. “Hey, no need for all that,” he said. “I’m not dying or anything. I mean, it may feel like I am when I get coffee later and I can’t taste it, but I’m gonna be fine. No stupid magic thing is gonna take down the amazing Hawkeye.”

“I know,” said Bucky. “That wasn’t what I was saying, it’s not-” He stopped and made a face, then took a deep breath. “I’m not saying this because I’m scared, I’m saying it because it’s true. I love you, Clint.”

“I love you too,” said Clint, leaning in to kiss him. He didn’t keep it to a peck, because it seemed like Bucky needed a bit of reassurance, even if he claimed he didn’t. He straddled Bucky’s lap, taking his head in both hands and kissing him as thoroughly as he could manage. Even without being able to taste anything, the feel of Bucky’s lips and tongue against his was enough to send shivers over his skin, especially when Bucky curved his arms around his hips and held on, kissing back with just as much passion.

Clint leaned in closer to him, then had to pull away and bite out a swear word when it pulled on his ribs in the wrong way, sending a spike of pain through his chest.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” said Bucky, sitting up and taking hold of his waist, anxious concern written all over his face.

“I’m fine,” said Clint, rolling away from him and collapsing back down on the bed. “It’s just ribs. I’ve had a lot of experience with damaged ribs.” 

“You still need to take it easy,” said Bucky, with the nagging tone that Clint hated so much. He didn’t need a goddamn nurse, he was perfectly capable of looking after himself.

“Oh, hey, I found a time when you’re not sexy,” he said, staring up at the ceiling. “When you’re acting like I’m a toddler who needs constant supervision.”

Bucky opened his mouth to say something, then took a deep breath and clenched his jaw instead. “Fine,” he said, in a controlled voice.

They stayed like that for a few minutes as Clint tried to get his anger to drain away. It wasn’t really Bucky he was angry with anyway, it was the situation.

And also Bucky, a bit. A year later, and they were still having this same fight every time Clint was injured. He was so done with it.

His stomach rumbled and he made a face. He was hungry, but he really didn’t want to have to eat something and face the reality of not being able to taste it.

“I’m hungry too,” said Bucky quietly, and Clint sighed. Damn his soft-hearted unwillingness to let his soulmate go hungry even when he was pissed at him.

“Okay, okay, fine. Let me have a shower and then we’ll go get breakfast. Or lunch, or whatever meal it’s time for,” he said, getting up.

“Yeah, okay,” said Bucky.

As Clint went into the bathroom, he caught sight of Bucky in the mirror, frustration flashing over his face as he clenched his fists. Apparently he wasn’t any happier about having this argument again and again than Clint was.

****

The next morning, Clint wasn’t able to smell, which felt like a reprieve. It wasn’t as if he used smell for much more than savouring his coffee, and just being able to taste it was enough after a day without.

Bucky clearly thought the same, because he went out for his usual morning run with Steve without needing to be nagged into leaving Clint alone. Clint wandered out to the main lounge once he was awake and dressed, and stared out at the rain coming down outside. Did he want to go to the range in this?

Erika had heavily implied that one of his Youtube videos to reassure his fans that he really was fine after the dragon would be appreciated. Maybe he could do that today.

****

The camera focused on a rain-covered window, then pulled back and was turned to show Clint’s face.

“Okay, so I was going to shoot a video for you guys today but as you can see the weather isn’t so good. Not that that would make any difference to my incredible shooting, but apparently I’m not meant to get this camera wet. So, I’m staying indoors and I thought we’d branch out a bit.”

He spun the camera again and it moved jerkily through the lounge to the kitchen, where Sam was pouring himself a mug from the coffee machine.

“Today, Sam Wilson will be showing you how to make his incredible pancakes, which are favourites of the whole team.”

Sam turned around and stared at Clint, and then at the camera. “I’ll be doing what?”

The camera tilted oddly as Clint pulled himself up on the table. “Showing the world your pancakes recipe. C’mon, man, share the love.”

“No way,” said Sam. “For one thing, I wasn’t planning on making pancakes today, just have some toast and then go to the gym, and for another that’s my Nana’s special recipe and she’ll kill me if I share it.”

“Aw, come on,” said Clint, balancing the camera on his knee and angling it up, which caught Sam from a very weird angle as he leaned back against the counter and sipped at his coffee. “You know our super-soldiers are out in this terrible weather running, don’t you think they’ll appreciate some tasty carbs when they get back?”

“Probably,” said Sam. “But they can make them themselves. They’re both capable men.”

Clint angled the camera up so that it caught his face. “Steve and Bucky go for a run together most days,” he said, “except it’s only a ‘run’ in the very loosest sense of the word. They started off being competitive about who was faster, and now they basically do anything and everything they can to hamper the other’s chances. I don’t want to give away his secrets, but Bucky gets up before dawn to plant booby traps at least once a week.”

“My favourite was the jello,” said Sam. Clint angled the camera back at him. “Steve filled Bucky’s running shoes with jello. And he didn’t just tip it in there from a pot, oh no, he made it in them, so it was all set in place. It was incredible.”

“It was pretty good jello, as well,” added Clint.

Sam’s eyes slid up from the camera to stare at him. “Please, Clint, please tell me you didn’t eat it.”

“Some of it,” said Clint.

Sam looked absolutely horrified. “You ate sweaty foot jello?”

“I just dug out the middle bit,” said Clint. Sam’s expression didn’t change. “It hadn’t touched the shoes at all,” he added defensively.

“You’re not making it better, man,” said Sam. “I don’t understand why you haven’t died of some horrible disease from all the dodgy shit you eat.”

There was a noise at the door and the camera spun around to show Bucky and Steve coming in. They were both completely soaked and splattered with mud, but looked pretty happy. At least until they saw the camera.

“Please tell me you’re not making a shooting video in the kitchen,” said Steve. “Do we have to have the basic health and safety talk again, Hawkeye?”

“Nope,” said Clint. “We’re doing Masterchef today. Sam’s going to show off his pancake recipe.”

Steve perked up. “You’re making pancakes?”

Sam gritted his teeth. “No, I’m not. And I’m not being talked into it by peer pressure.”

“Oh,” said Steve, deflating.

Bucky headed over towards Clint. “Put the camera down so I can say good morning properly, will ya?”

“Nope,” said Clint, bringing it up defensively between them and getting a close up of Bucky’s head. There were whole lumps of mud in his hair. “Not until you’ve showered. What the hell did you guys do, wrestle in it?”

Bucky’s shoulders dropped and a melancholy look took over his face. “Okay, fine. I guess I went seventy years without a hug, I can wait a bit now.”

Clint let out a long sigh. “Aw, man,” he muttered. “Fine, fine, okay. Steve, you’re already wet, can you give Bucky a hug for me?”

“Gladly,” said Steve, and wrapped Bucky up in a tight embrace, squeezing him and then lifting him off the ground while Bucky flailed.

“Fucking assholes,” said Bucky in a muffled voice, then thumped Steve’s back with his metal fist until he let go.

“Dude, you’re the one trying to emotionally blackmail your soulmate into getting covered in mud,” said Clint.

“And you’re the one trying to pressure me into making pancakes,” said Sam. “You deserve each other.”

“Oh, are you making pancakes?” asked Wanda, appearing in the doorway.

Sam groaned and put his head in his hands. “No. No! I refuse to be talked into it.”

“It would be good to have a communal breakfast this morning,” said Steve. “Have a bit of team time.”

Sam groaned from behind his hands.

Wanda glanced over at Steve, who raised an eyebrow at her, then back at Clint’s camera. She pulled out her phone. “I’m going to text the others and let them know we’re having communal pancakes, and that Clint thinks he’s Alfred Hitchcock.”

Clint turned the camera to focus on his face. “The birds,” he said in a fake-scared whisper, widening his eyes. “The birds.”

“All these hawks being smartasses and falcons refusing to make us breakfast, you mean?” asked Bucky.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” said Sam. “Fine. FINE. I’m making pancakes, you win.”

Clint cheered.

“I appreciate your commitment to the team,” said Steve, in his best Captain America voice.

Sam just glowered at him as he started pulling out bowls and ingredients. “This fucking team,” he muttered darkly.

“Okay,” said Bucky, “I think I’m gonna have a shower first then.” He glanced over at Clint and twitched an eyebrow. “Wanna join me?”

“Fuck yes,” said Clint immediately, dropping the camera onto the table and jumping up.

“Hang on, wasn’t the point of the pancakes to make a video about it?” asked Sam as Bucky and Clint headed for the door.

“Yeah, but, shower sex,” said Clint over his shoulder. “Priorities, man.”

They disappeared out of the door and Sam sighed. “Ten bucks says they don’t make it back in time for pancakes.”

“I wouldn’t take that bet,” said Steve, moving towards the camera and picking it up. For a moment there was an extreme close up on his nose, then the screen went black.

****

Clint was rolled up in the thickest comforter he could find on one of the sofas in the communal sitting room with _Dog Cops_ playing on screen. Wanda was curled in the nearest armchair with her phone, which was making Clint kinda paranoid that a photo of him as a human burrito was going to end up on Instagram. He had one of Bucky’s hoodies on with the hood pulled up over his head, so between that and the comforter, he was hoping there wasn’t enough of him to be seen to make it worth her while.

Today was much worse than yesterday. The curse had moved on to taking away his sense of touch. Not being able to feel anything was horrible, as if he were numb all over. He’d wrapped himself in the comforter so that he could kid himself that it was layers of material keeping him from feeling anything, but it wasn’t really working.

Plus, it turned out that not being able to feel things made you clumsy, so he’d already spilled coffee down himself and then dropped a plate, which had made Bucky go into hyper-protective mode. He’d spent the morning hovering over Clint as if he could make the slightest bit of difference to whether or not Clint fumbled what he was holding, and it had been driving Clint up the wall. He’d ended up taking Sam to one side after lunch and telling him that he needed to get Steve to take Bucky off somewhere far away from Clint before he killed him.

It had taken Steve’s best ‘I will not take no for an answer’ before Bucky eventually caved into going for a run with him, and he’d still been glancing back at Clint as he’d walked out the door. Clint had just shut his eyes and tried to ignore him.

The episode of _Dog Cops_ ended and another one came on.

“Are we watching the whole season?” asked Wanda.

Clint shrugged within his layers. “I am. You don’t have to stick around.” He turned narrowed eyes on her. “Unless you’re on Clint Watch.”

She rolled her eyes. “The only person on Clint Watch is Bucky. I just don’t have anything better to do with my time right now.”

Clint paused for the length of a particularly good scene with Sergeant Whiskers before he spoke again. “Do you...can you tell if the curse is weakening at all? I mean, this is the fifth sense, right? So I should wake up okay tomorrow?”

Or he could wake up with none of them, or something else fucked up, or some of his other senses would go, the non-traditional ones like balance or temperature or pain or something. Shit, not having his balance would suck.

Pretty much all of this sucked.

She hesitated, then raised a red glowing hand. “May I?”

He nodded, bracing himself as the glow enclosed him. She frowned with concentration, then let out a sigh and the fire faded.

“I can’t tell. It doesn’t seem to have changed in strength since the other day, except that it’s now concentrated on your skin.”

Great. Clint clenched his jaw and directed his attention back to the TV.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know I should be able to do something, but it’s just not like any magic I’ve seen before.”

“Not your fault,” said Clint. “Not like you’ve done an intense study on dragons and their magic, right?”

“Maybe I should,” said Wanda. “It would be a better use of my time than Instagram.”

“Your Instagram keeps Erika happy. It’s vital to the whole Avengers mission,” said Clint. Since Wanda had been posting photos and Clint had been making his videos, they’d spent a lot less time in the conference room while Erika ranted at them about their failures. That wasn’t something he was interested in giving up.

“So, I can take a photo of you right now?” asked Wanda with a grin.

“Nope,” said Clint, shuffling down deeper into the comforter. “Fuck off.”

Bucky strode into the room, took one look at Clint and made a beeline for him. “You still okay?”

Clint groaned. He’d been hoping Steve would be able to keep him away longer than that. “Still fine.”

Bucky crouched down next to Clint and put a hand on his face, which was the last thing Clint wanted because it highlighted the fact that he couldn’t feel Bucky’s skin against his, or the rough feel of his calluses, or the gentleness he always touched Clint with, as if he were something fragile and precious.

_Or breakable_ , thought Clint, tossing his head to move Bucky’s hand away.

“Do you need anything?” asked Bucky.

“Nope,” said Clint, turning his eyes back to the TV screen.

Bucky sat back on his heels, still frowning with concern. Clint did his best to ignore him.

“I could do with a cup of tea, if you’re offering,” said Wanda. Bucky sent her a black look that she just returned with a smile.

“Avengers, assemble in the main hangar,” came Steve’s voice over the tannoy. “Incident in progress.”

Wanda immediately jumped up. “See you later, Clint.”

“Good luck,” he called after her, then gave Bucky a pointed look when he didn’t move. “You going?”

“Yeah,” said Bucky, standing up. “Just…”

“I swear, if you make a comment about me needing a babysitter,” said Clint.

Bucky shook his head. “Nah, just- I always prefer going into a fight with you beside me, you know that.”

That made Clint feel like an asshole, because he did know that, he was just taking his sulk out on Bucky. “Ribs don’t take long to heal,” he said, because that was technically the reason he was benched at the moment and he wasn’t going to think about this curse lasting longer than it took for his ribs to mend.

“Yeah,” said Bucky, in a tone that meant he knew exactly what Clint was thinking. “Hey, can I get a kiss before I go?”

“Yep,” said Clint, leaning his head up so that Bucky could bend down and press his lips against his. He hated the sensation of kissing when he couldn’t feel it, but he wasn’t going to let Bucky head off without one. “You taking the good luck keyring?”

“Of course,” said Bucky, straightening and taking a couple of steps backwards. “See you, Barton.”

“See you, Barnes,” replied Clint, and Bucky left.

Clint nestled down further into the comforter and tried to focus back on Sergeant Whiskers, but he only managed about ten minutes before he let out a sigh and gave up. He switched it off and shuffled to the nearest conference room, still wrapped up like a mummy, and settled in a chair to watch the recordings from the fight on the big screen.

The team were still in the quinjet when he first turned on the cameras, but it wasn’t long before they were jumping into a fight with Doombots, who seemed to be trying to get away with some tech from an Apple R&D site. Clint wondered if Doctor Doom was trying to jump the queue for the next iPhone.

The Doombots didn’t last long against the Avengers. Clint saw the Doombot that was carrying the stolen tech getting nailed by Steve’s shield before it had got anywhere near the getaway vehicle. Another Doombot grabbed the box up, but Bucky was already sprinting over and smashed his fist into its mask. His metal fist, so bits of robot went flying everywhere.

Clint carefully pulled his arm out of his cocoon so that he could touch his finger to his print. That was probably his saving grace with this curse, that no matter what else he could or couldn’t sense, he could always reach out for Bucky.

Bucky was a swirl of frustration and irritation, which would be because the fight had been far too easy and was pretty much already over. He’d probably been hoping to take out some of his pent-up emotions about Clint’s curse on the Doombots. That’s what Clint would be wanting to do, if he weren’t benched.

Once all the robots had been contained, SHIELD agents arrived on site to take charge. Clint watched Bucky hand over the box he’d taken off them, glance around at where Steve was chatting to a man in a suit who must work for Apple, then slide his hand up inside his body armour to read his print.

A surge of irritation ran through Clint before he could stop it. Christ, Bucky just had to keep checking on him. And, okay, so Clint had come out to watch the fight, but that was different. It wasn’t like Clint was in any danger while he was wrapped in a blanket on a sofa in the most secure military base in the country.

Bucky’s irritation faded and a surge of affection replaced it as he read Clint’s emotions. Maybe Clint was being a bit unreasonable. It wasn’t like Bucky didn’t read him for plenty of different reasons, of which checking on his safety was only one.

He took his finger off his own print and flicked off the screens, then headed back to the common room to finish his _Dog Cops_ marathon.

****

He stayed wrapped up on the sofa for the rest of the day, even after the team came back. Bucky sat with him, but he only asked how Clint was doing a couple more times. Clint just made non-committal grunting noises to show how uninterested he was in answering, and Bucky let it go.

He shouldn’t have been tired after a day of just slobbing about, but somehow he found himself nodding off on the sofa a lot earlier than they usually went to bed. He gave it another ten minutes, then wriggled himself into a sitting position.

“I’m going to bed.”

Bucky nodded. “I’ll come,” he said, standing up.

“You don’t need to, it’s early,” said Clint, shuffling until he and his cocoon were in a good position to stand up. It would be easier to unwrap himself, but that wasn’t happening.

“Not like there’s anything else going on,” said Bucky. He offered Clint a hand to help him up, but Clint ignored it. He wasn’t going to touch Bucky again until he could feel him. He clambered to his feet and Bucky let his hand drop.

“Tomorrow, it’s all gonna be over,” said Clint, with every inch of conviction he could muster. “Five days, five senses. It’s got to be done, right?”

“I fucking hope so,” said Bucky. He tucked his hands into his pockets as they headed back towards their rooms, Clint shuffling inside his comforter.

“I’m just so fucking done with being in limbo about the whole thing,” added Clint. “I mean, the whole thing is shit, I hate everything about it, but not knowing what’s coming next and just having to wait and see, I fucking hate it.”

“Me too,” said Bucky. His arm twitched out as if to go around Clint, but fell before it got near him.

Clint wasn’t done ranting yet. “Just, everything’s up in the air. I can’t even go out to the farm while my ribs heal. I could have got a lot further on the back bedroom in three weeks.”

“No DIY while you’re injured,” said Bucky, but they both knew it was an automatic response that Clint would ignore. They’d reached the door to their rooms, and he opened it for Clint so that he didn’t have to untangle his arms from the comforter. “I guess we’ve gotta just hold on to the things that are always gonna be rock solid, no matter what. Things like me and you.”

Clint headed straight for the bedroom, where he tipped forward onto the bed, hitting the mattress face first.

“Yup,” he muttered into it. “Hooray for soulmates.”

“Okay, I’m gonna ignore the sarcasm in that,” said Bucky. He sounded irritated so Clint rolled over to look at him.

“No, it’s- You know you’re pretty much the best thing I’ve got going for me,” said Clint. “Even putting this whole stupid curse thing to one side.”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, I do know that. You’ve always made sure I knew that, even back when I didn’t know much else about myself.” He had a weirdly serious look on his face as he headed for his nightstand and Clint winced. Aw man, he’d fucked up. He’d been so caught up in being grumpy and sulking about this curse that he’d pissed Bucky off.

“Hey, look. I’m sorry I’ve been a dick, I didn’t mean to take it out on you,” he said. “You’re right, me and you, that’s rock solid, but nothing else is at the moment. I need to just take this one day at a time, so I can keep hoping that tomorrow means an end to it, you know? I can’t think any further ahead, because I start thinking that maybe I’m always gonna be cursed, or it’s gonna get worse, and then I freak out.”

Bucky pulled open his nightstand drawer to put the lucky keyring back in it, then he paused to look at Clint. “Doesn’t matter what tomorrow brings, I’ll always be here. Clint, I’ve-”

“That’s not the point,” interrupted Clint. “Of course you are, but am I? I mean, it’s been five days and I’m already losing it. What am I gonna be like if it keeps going?” He’d got very low when he’d lost his hearing and spent weeks descending into a funk that he’d only been pulled out of by Natasha’s determination to prove to him that he wasn’t useless.

He forced himself to stop following that train of thought. “It’s just all a bit much,” he said. “I’m sorry if I haven’t been handling it well. I can’t really think about anything beyond it right now.”

Bucky paused where he was, then shut the drawer again and knelt down on the bed to where he could put a hand on top of the comforter wrapped across Clint’s chest. “No, it’s fine. I get it. I’m the one that shouldn’t be pushing stuff that can wait until later.”

He lay down next to Clint, keeping his hand where it was but not moving any closer, which Clint appreciated. The reason he couldn’t feel Bucky’s hand was because the comforter was in the way but if Bucky got any closer, he wasn’t going to be able to hide from the horrible numb feeling that covered his body.

“You’re going to be okay,” said Bucky, with the fervour of a true believer. “You have to be. And even if you’re not, we’ll get through it. I mean, come on. We’ve gone through so much shit to get where we are, this is nothing. We both know who we are, and we’ve got each other.”

“Right,” agreed Clint, hoping like hell that Bucky was right.


	4. Chapter 4

When he woke up the next morning and opened his eyes to be met by darkness, it was with a horrible, stomach-churning sense of deja vu. He’d gone to sleep hoping so hard that this was all going to be over today.

“Bucky,” he said, feeling over to the other side of the bed and finding it empty. “Bucky, shit, Bucky, I can’t see, please say you’re here, I need-”

A hand caught his and a moment later arms were around his shoulders, holding on to him. Clint reached out and clung on, clenching his useless eyes shut as tears pricked at them. “It’s not over,” he said. “Why the fuck isn’t it over yet?”

He could feel Bucky’s hair pressed against his face, so at least he had that. It wasn’t much of a consolation though. His eyes were pretty much his whole livelihood, how was he meant to adjust to just waking up without them every few days?

Bucky clung on for a few minutes, then pulled away to push Clint’s aids into his hands. Clint fumbled them into his ears and turned them on. Sound flooded in and he thanked fuck that at least his ears were working as much as they ever did.

“I’m gonna call Doctor Strange again,” said Bucky. “No, you know what, we’re gonna go over there and just camp out in his front room until he fucking fixes this already.”

Clint let out a tired laugh. “Not sure laying siege to the Sorcerer Supreme is the best idea we’ve ever had.” He pressed his face into Bucky’s shoulder and took a deep breath. “Fuck this. Fuck everything.”

Bucky sighed. “Yeah,” he agreed, sounding just as tired.

Clint spent the whole day in bed, ignoring everything except Bucky, who spent most of the day with him. Wanda and Bruce came by to do some tests on him, which Clint pretended weren’t happening, then Natasha came by to point out that he was wallowing and needed to pull himself together, which made Clint pull the covers up over his head. Of course he was wallowing, but it wasn’t like there was much else for him to do right now.

The next day he was deaf again. After he’d tried his aids and found them useless, he just lay in bed staring up at the ceiling and trying to find the energy to care.

Bucky lay with him for a bit, then got up and went into the bathroom. When he came out, freshly showered, to find Clint in exactly the same position, he let out a sigh.

_Come on, get up,_ he signed. _You’ve been in bed for nearly forty hours, you need a shower._

Clint just shut his eyes. The idea of getting up and going to the bathroom felt exhausting.

A moment later, there was a hard tap against his forehead and he opened his eyes to see Bucky glaring at him. _Oh no,_ he signed furiously. _You don’t get to shut me out like this. Get up, shower, we’re getting breakfast._

“Not hungry,” said Clint.

_I don’t give a shit,_ said Bucky. _You need to eat, and you definitely need to get out of this room._

Clint had no interest in either of those things.

_And after breakfast, we’re going to the farm,_ added Bucky.

Clint raised his head. “The farm? Don’t I need to stay here for monitoring, or whatever?”

Bucky shrugged. _Maybe if anyone had the slightest idea what to monitor you for. They haven’t got a clue though so, fuck it, let’s at least go chill on the farm until your ribs are mended._

“And I’ve finished the back bedroom,” added Clint, sitting up properly.

_No DIY while you’re injured,_ signed Bucky, but Clint ignored him. It wasn’t like he was going to do strenuous DIY. Just a bit of painting, maybe get up those shelves they’d been talking about, oh, except, he’d need to rebuild the window before he did either of those things, he’d be best starting with that.

He got out of bed and headed for the shower, running through the supplies they had at the farm. Did they need to stop at a lumber store on the way?

****

Going to the farm didn’t make everything better but Clint always felt better when they were there. There were always other people around on the base, even in the places they’d tried to carve out just for themselves. Plus, Clint’s DIY projects meant he always had something to do, even when there hadn’t been any Avengers call-outs for a while.

Bucky wouldn’t let him start on rebuilding the window while his ribs were injured, but he did compromise on letting Clint repaint the hallway, as long as Clint let him do the top part of the wall, the bit that required stretching for.

The next day he woke up unable to taste with a certain sense of sick inevitability and skipped breakfast to start on the second coat.

“You still need to eat, you know,” said Bucky when it came around to lunch time.

Clint just shook his head. “Not hungry.”

Bucky snorted. “Yeah, not buying it. I’m making you a sandwich.”

Clint made a face. “I should just be drinking those disgustingly healthy smoothies of Tony’s while I can’t gag on the taste.”

“I ain’t kissing you if you’re been drinking one of those,” said Bucky, setting his paintbrush down and stretching. “I love you, but I’ve got some standards.”

“That seems fair,” said Clint.

They ate on the porch, on the swing Clint had spent three days swearing at while he tried to get it to hang right the last time they came out here. Rocking gently back and forth with Bucky pressed against his side, looking out at the thin line of trees that divided his property from Mr Hughes’s, he thought it had been time well spent.

“Do you think it’s gonna rain?” he asked.

Bucky tipped his head back to stare at the sky, then shrugged. “I don’t know. I suck at weather.”

Clint stared up at the grey sky with a frown. “Might get to the range now in case it does.” Maybe spending some time shooting would push aside some of the misery that was still settled over his shoulders.

There was an excited bark and he glanced over to see Chopper running towards them, followed at some distance by Mr Hughes.

“Oh, hey boy!” said Clint, abandoning the remains of his sandwich to go greet him. He dropped into a crouch so that he could fuss over Chopper the way he deserved, accepting wet doggy licks in return. His ribs twinged at the movement but petting a dog was way more important than that.

“How’s it going, boys?” asked Mr Hughes when he’d got close enough. “You doing okay?”

He was giving Clint a concerned look that meant he’d probably seen footage of the fight with the dragon. Clint ignored it.

“Fine,” he said. “Even better now Chopper’s here.”

Mr Hughes snorted. “Yeah, I figured you’d like that.” He glanced over at Bucky, who was still on the swing, probably trying to look as non-threatening as possible. They’d met several times since the first time, when Bucky had pulled a gun on Mr Hughes, but the lingering tension from that never quite seemed to dissipate. “Just have him back to me by Friday, yeah?”

“What?” asked Clint, glancing around at Bucky. “Wait, what have you done?”

Bucky shrugged. “You needed cheering up. I figured I wasn’t doing such a good job at it, so I asked Mr Hughes if Chopper could come stay so he could do better.”

Clint gaped at him. “You got me a dog?” Bucky just gave a half-shrug.

“ _Borrowed_ a dog,” corrected Mr Hughes. “It’s temporary. Don’t go getting any ideas, I’ll want him back.”

Clint ran a hand over Chopper’s head, ruffling his ears. “Oh man, we’re gonna have so much fun,” he said to him. Chopper let out an excited bark.

Clint grabbed his bow and a quiver of blunted arrows, and took Chopper out to the field for a game of fetch, leaving Bucky to finish the painting. He’d kinda made his own bed on that one, there was no way Clint was going to stay indoors decorating when he could be out playing with a dog.

It did start raining, but Clint didn’t come in until it was heavy enough to soak through his hoodie. Bucky met him at the porch with a couple of towels and a fierce glare.

“No muddy footprints, or pawprints, in the house.”

Clint grabbed one of the towels and dropped down to wipe Chopper down. “No worries, Mom.”

“Hilarious,” said Bucky, without a trace of mirth. “Might be funnier if I didn’t spend my life picking up after you.”

Chopper was as clean and dry as he was likely to get so Clint let him go, then stood up and just kicked his shoes off rather than deal with cleaning them right then.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” said Clint, wrapping an arm around Bucky to kiss him. And maybe sorta on purpose pressing his damp hoodie against Bucky’s nice dry one at the same time.

Bucky rolled his eyes but when Clint pulled back he was smiling. “You seem to be in a much better mood. Wonder what mighta done that?”

“My perfect boyfriend, probably,” said Clint. He pulled away and headed into the kitchen to put on the coffee machine, and got halfway through the process before he remembered that he wasn’t going to be able to taste it.

Fuck, fuckety fuck. Well, at least it would warm him up a bit, right? And give him a caffeine hit.

“Hey, do you think it’s going to be my smell tomorrow?” he asked as he fixed Bucky a cup as well. “I mean, it seems to be going in order, right?”

He could handle that. It was the day after, when he wouldn’t be able to touch again, that was going to be shit. And then he’d be blind again, unless this thing was only going to run through twice.

Fuck, please let it only run through twice.

Bucky shrugged, sitting down on the sofa and resting an absent hand on Chopper’s neck when he jumped up to curl beside him. “Seems likely. I don’t know, does knowing making it better or worse?”

“Better,” said Clint, handing him his mug and sitting down next to him. “Definitely better. I just hate not knowing what’s coming.” Chopper shifted around so that he could rest his head on Clint’s knee, and he stroked over his head. In two days he wouldn’t be able to feel the soft fur brushing through his fingers.

That was his future self’s problem, though. Today he was going to sit here and stroke a dog, and not think about how he couldn’t taste the coffee he was drinking.

****

Bucky got called back to the base the next morning because SHIELD’s intelligence said that Doom’s raid on Apple hadn’t been a one-off and Steve wanted the team onsite in case they needed to assemble.

Clint stayed at the farm, ignoring the waiting DIY in favour of playing with Chopper. Man, having a dog around really was the best, there had to be some way they could get one. Maybe if it lived with Mr Hughes when they were on base, or he could talk Steve into letting them keep it in the Avengers quarters, and get Fury to send an agent over to look after it whenever they got sent off on a long mission.

Yeah, okay, there was no way Fury would do that.

“Maybe I’ll just retire,” Clint told Chopper the day after that as they curled up in front of _Dog Cops_. He was wrapped in a blanket to try and distract from not being able to feel, but Chopper had settled in his lap and the heavy weight of his body felt like it was anchoring him. “I could retire and get, like, a whole bunch of dogs. I mean, this place is big enough for them, right?”

His phone buzzed, and he unwound a hand from his cocoon to pick it up. “I could retire and get twenty dogs, right?” he said without bothering with a greeting.

“You could,” said Natasha, slowly. “I’m not sure Bucky would be okay with living with a whole pack of dogs.”

“Would I even need a soulmate if I had that many dogs, though?” Clint asked. Chopper shifted on his lap and flicked an ear at him.

“Yes,” said Natasha, very firmly. “Dogs aren’t going to get into ridiculous shooting competitions with you, or play _Call of Duty_ , or laugh at your terrible jokes.”

“Bucky doesn’t laugh at my jokes as often as he should,” said Clint. “I mean, it’s like he doesn’t know I’m hilarious.”

“You’re not,” said Natasha, and Clint let out a gasp of shocked hurt.

“Or maybe you just don’t have a sense of humour,” said Clint. “What are you calling for, anyway, if not my fabulous jokes?”

There was a telling pause and he sighed. “Oh, you’re checking I’m not sitting here moping. Let me guess, Bucky put you up to this.”

“I’m perfectly capable of caring about my best friend’s welfare without being poked into it by his soulmate,” said Natasha. “And don’t pretend you’re not sitting there moping. I can hear Sergeant Whiskers in the background. You always watch _Dog Cops_ when you’re moping.”

“And sometimes I just watch it,” said Clint. “Besides, I’ve got a dog here, I figured we should watch something that might appeal to him.” He let out a sigh, tipping his head back against the sofa. “Tell Bucky I’m fine, and if he doesn’t believe me he should just read me. And maybe quit worrying like a mother hen.”

“Not all the people who worry about you have the ability to read you,” said Natasha. “Or do you think I stopped caring when you activated?”

There was a sharp note to her voice that made Clint wince and glance down at Chopper for reassurance. He got a sleepy look of affection back. “Sorry,” he offered, because he and Nat had been through a lot together and it was a dick move to think Bucky was the only one worrying.

“As you should be,” she said, then sighed. “Are you really thinking about retiring?”

Clint shrugged even though she couldn’t see it. “I’m probably gonna be blind tomorrow,” he said. “Then I’m gonna be completely deaf. Putting the ribs to one side, I could probably fight the two days after that, but not being able to feel anything makes me clumsy so the day after I’d be on the bench again. Two days out of five isn’t gonna work. Avenging isn’t really a part-time gig.”

“We’ll fix this,” said Natasha. “I know Doctor Strange is still looking.”

Clint made a face that he was glad she couldn’t see. “Sure,” he said, tiredly. Nothing in his life was ever that easy. “Hope for the best but plan for the worst, though.”

She was silent for a moment before speaking. “Are you sure this isn’t just an excuse to get a pack of dogs?”

“Could you blame me if it were?” asked Clint. “ _Dogs_ , Nat. I could teach them to solve crimes.”

“Please don’t,” she said.

“I could call them, like, Sherlock Bones and Howlcules Poirot and Bark Tracy and-”

“If you don’t stop, I’ll tell Steve you’re engaging in acts of torture,” interrupted Natasha. 

Clint grinned to himself. “Let me guess, that’s banned in the Avengers handbook.”

“Rule fourteen,” said Natasha. “No more than one bad pun per day, per Avenger.” She paused for a moment. “I don’t think there’s a rule about actual torture, although it’s pretty much covered by rule two. Don’t do anything that would make Steve give you his disappointed look.”

“Wow, that one’s unfairly broad-reaching, isn’t it?” said Clint. “I mean, he was disappointed when I ate his sandwich last week.”

“Rule seventeen. Don’t eat a team member’s food,” said Natasha.

“Okay, did you just memorise the whole book?” asked Clint.

“Of course,” she said. “You have to know the rules so that you can manipulate them.” There was a pause and Clint heard voices in the background. “I have to go.”

“Okay, stay safe,” said Clint.

“Don’t adopt any dogs,” said Natasha, and hung up.

Clint dropped his phone onto the sofa and pulled his arm down inside his cocoon again. He got another twenty minutes of _Dog Cops_ before Bucky called.

“Two,” he said when Clint picked up. “That’s the maximum number of dogs you’re allowed.”

Clint raised his eyebrows at Chopper, who was now asleep. “ _Two,_ ” he repeated. There was no way that would be enough.

“Yep,” said Bucky. “I mean, we both know you’re gonna let them sleep in the bed, and I’m damned if I’m gonna let you get so many that there’s no room for me. So, two, or I’m sleeping in the spare room.”

Clint considered that. “I wouldn’t let them sleep in the bed,” he said. “How would we have sex with dogs watching? Nah, they can have the spare room.”

Bucky snorted. “Yeah, those seem like the right priorities,” he said. There was a careful pause and Clint braced himself. “Are you really thinking about retiring?”

Clint sighed, slumping sideways on the sofa until he hit the arm. “What else am I meant to do? I can’t carry on like this.” Chopper, disrupted by Clint’s move, stood up and shuffled around, then lay back down again, giving him a reproachful look. 

“We don’t know that it’s going to last,” said Bucky.

“We don’t know that it won’t,” countered Clint. “I don’t see the point of just staying in limbo, I’d rather just call it, if this is it. I don’t know, I was just thinking out loud really. I guess we’ll see where we are when my ribs are fixed, right?”

“Yeah, okay,” said Bucky, but he didn’t sound happy. “I’ll let Steve know he might be down two team members, it’s probably only fair to warn him.”

“Two?” asked Clint, and then realisation struck and he sat up. “Oh no, hell no. You’re not retiring just because I am. You’re not cursed.”

Chopper got up again, making a very unhappy noise at Clint’s sharp movement, and Clint put a hand out to stroke over his neck, then regretted it when he couldn’t feel anything against his hand.

“Where you go, I go,” said Bucky. “Remember? I’m not gonna stay here if you’re not around.”

“Fuck that,” said Clint. “I’m not watching you go nuts with boredom and getting all antsy because Steve’s going into fights without you watching his back. I know exactly how important being an Avenger is to you, I’m not letting you give that up.”

“You’re more important,” said Bucky, with the stubborn tone that made Clint want to reach down the telephone and shake him. “If you’re on the farm with your hundreds of dogs, and I’m on base waiting for Doom to attack, when are we gonna be together?”

“Whenever we fucking want to,” said Clint. “We have access to fucking quinjets. I’m serious, Bucky, you’re not giving it up, you’re too good. And it means too much to you. You can be in a relationship with someone you don’t work with, you know, millions of people manage it.”

“Yeah, this ain’t exactly a nine-to-five,” said Bucky. “I don’t want to spend most of my time living on base if you’re gonna be at the farm permanently.” He let out a long sigh. “Look, you’re not gonna talk me out of wanting to spend my time with you, Clint.”

Clint clenched his hand into a fist. “And you’re not going to manipulate me into not retiring by playing the martyr.”

There was a heartbeat of silence, just long enough for Clint to realise what a shit thing that was to say, then Bucky spat, “Fuck you, asshole,” and hung up.

Clint dropped his phone. Fuck, what was wrong with him?

****

Mr Hughes came over to pick Chopper up a couple of hours later and Clint did his best to pretend he was totally fine in front of him. He had enough people worrying about him, he wasn’t sure he could take any more.

Once he’d said goodbye to Chopper, he stood on the porch for a few minutes, watching the sunset and thinking about waking up blind tomorrow. Fuck, did he want to be blind on his own here?

His finger found its way to his print and he tapped in to Bucky’s emotions. He was kinda expecting the anger and worry, but the hurt bubbling under them made him feel like utter shit. Crap, what kind of an asshole would suggest that his soulmate would play fucking mind games like that? 

There was a surge of irritation on the surface of Bucky’s emotions, then a hard edge of bitter anger.

Fuck it, Clint wasn’t gonna hang about here feeling like shit when he could go back to the base and attempt some kind of apology.

He flew back to the base via Nova Scotia, picking up take out from the restaurant that he’d taken Bucky to the time they’d taken the quinjet for a joyride. Well, the first time they’d taken the quinjet for a joyride, although they’d got better at coming up with reasons for nipping up to Canada for a blast since then.

When he got to the base, the first Avenger he saw was Vision.

“Hello, Clint. I didn’t know you were coming back this evening.”

Clint shrugged. “Neither did I until about an hour ago,” he said. “Do you know where Bucky is?”

Vision paused and his eyes went distant. “He’s in the gym, with Natasha.”

Right. Probably trying to take out his anger at Clint on her. Clint took a deep breath, reminded himself that he was the asshole on this one, and headed down there.

Watching Bucky and Natasha spar was always a treat, but as Clint came in he could see this match was particularly brutal. Natasha somersaulted at Bucky’s head and he dropped to his knees to duck under her, grabbing her around the waist as he went and spinning around to trap her on the mat beneath him.

She must have caught sight of Clint when she was mid-air, because she didn’t spring back up, but said something quiet to Bucky that made him glance over at the doorway with a scowl.

Clint gave him a little wave, and the scowl darkened.

“I’ve come to apologise,” said Clint. “That was a shitty thing to say and I’m an asshole.” He held up the bag of food. “I’ve brought apology take out.”

Bucky looked at the bag and his scowl weakened but didn’t die. “Gonna take more than dinner.”

Clint rocked back on his heels, considering. “I’d offer a blowjob, but I’m not sure it’d be up to my usual standards while my skin’s all numb. Tomorrow?”

“Oh, Jesus,” muttered Natasha, standing up and walking over to where she’d left a towel. Clint ignored her in favour of focusing on Bucky, whose mouth had twitched upwards for a split-second.

“Not sure a raincheck on something I’d probably get anyway, if I just asked, is the bribe you want it to be.”

Clint tightened his hand on the bag, trying to ignore that he couldn’t feel the plastic against his fingers. What the hell could he offer Bucky that they didn’t do all the time anyway? “I’ll take you dancing?” he offered. “Uh, not tomorrow or the day after, gonna need my eyes and ears for it.”

Bucky tipped his head to one side, clearly considering that. “You’re gonna wear a fancy suit for it.”

Clint nodded. “Yup. Definitely. Waistcoat and everything. It can be our anniversary celebration?”

Bucky looked up at the ceiling for a heart-stoppingly long moment before he looked back at Clint and nodded. “Okay, you’re forgiven.”

Clint let out a sigh of relief and leaned back against the doorframe. “Awesome. Fantastic. Thank you.”

Natasha rolled her eyes as she headed for the door. “Should have held out for a promise to clean your rooms.”

“Are you kidding?” asked Bucky, following her off the mats towards Clint. “Have you seen this guy’s idea of a clean room? I’d only have to redo it after.”

“Hey, I can clean,” protested Clint. They both gave him disbelieving looks.

Natasha patted his arm as she slipped past and he tried not to flinch away from the lack of feeling. Bucky stopped in front of him but didn’t reach out, and Clint gave him a weak smile. “I really am sorry,” he said, once Natasha was gone.

Bucky nodded. “I know,” he said. “I knew as soon as you thought about it you would be. You still said it.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a dick,” said Clint, shoving the hand that wasn’t holding the bag into his pocket. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be taking this out on you.”

“Nah, it’s okay,” said Bucky. “Better you take it out on me than you bottle it up and stay in bed all day.”

“I don’t know, I kinda like staying in bed all day,” said Clint.

“Yeah, I noticed,” said Bucky, finally finding a proper smile. Clint let himself relax at the sight of it. “C’mon, let’s go eat that in our room. I’ve got a present for you in there.”

Clint followed him out of the gym. “Wait, you got me a present? While we were arguing?”

“Yeah,” said Bucky. “Guess I’m pretty much just the best boyfriend ever, right?” He shrugged. “Well, except that it’s mostly a present for me, and might piss you off.”

“Okay, that sounds more likely,” said Clint as they reached the door to their room. Bucky went in first, heading for the sofa and picking up a small basket that was next to it.

“It’s for your dirty socks,” he said, holding it out to Clint. “I thought it might cut down on arguments.”

Clint laughed as he took it from him. “Definitely a present for yourself, then.”

“Clean and tidy living quarters are a present for both of us,” said Bucky, but he was grinning as he said it so Clint just rolled his eyes and headed for the sofa so they could start on dinner.

****

“I’m gonna try something tonight,” said Clint, once they’d eaten and spent long enough on the X-Box to make it clear that he was shit at computer games when he couldn’t feel the controller.

“Yeah?” asked Bucky, distracted by taking his chance to beat Clint as soundly as possible.

“Yeah, see, I go to sleep and then wake up with a different sense gone, right?” said Clint. He fumbled the controller for the hundredth time, missed the button he was aiming for and got hit by a grenade before he could get off a shot. “Fuck.”

He dropped the controller as he respawned, flexing his hands as if that would make the slightest bit of difference. “So, I wondered what would happen if I just didn’t go to sleep,” he continued. “Will I still end up blind tomorrow? Will it not swap over? Will the curse lose its temper and just fuck off?”

“The last seems unlikely,” said Bucky, “but I guess we can hope.”

Clint picked his controller up as his avatar faded back into the game, then wondered why he’d bothered when Bucky charged around a corner with a rocket launcher and took him out. “You shit.”

“Yup,” said Bucky, with great satisfaction. “You know, if we’re staying up all night, we’re gonna need a lot of coffee.”

Clint felt his eyes light up. “Fuck, yes. Coffee and sugar and thank fuck I can taste things right now.”

“I think there are doughnuts in the kitchen,” said Bucky, and Clint abandoned his controller to hop up and go find them.

They both got twitchy just before midnight, glancing up at the clock while trying to pretend they weren’t holding their breaths. Clint had spent the other night waking up on and off but without his aids in, he’d found it impossible to tell when he went from being completely deaf to being unable to taste. This was magic, so midnight seemed to make sense as a changeover point, right? 

When it got to a minute past and Clint was still able to see Bucky’s avatar kicking his ass, he let out a long breath.

“Okay, so far so good,” he said.

“You realise that even if this works, it’s not like you can just stop sleeping?” asked Bucky.

“I know,” said Clint, leaping over a wall so that he could come up behind Bucky. He was getting better at fine motor control in the absence of touch, but it still took him two goes. “Just be nice to know I’ve got some control, you know?”

Bucky nodded, spinning around to shoot back at Clint, running straight at him so that Clint had to move fast to adjust his aim which...yep, he was dead again.

“I am going to get you by the end of the night,” he said.

“Sure,” said Bucky, too easily. “Get to it, then.”

By the time it was pretty much morning, Clint’s eyes were scratchy with staring at the screen, he was on his seventh cup of coffee, and Bucky was still fucking winning.

“Stupid super-soldier stupid reflexes,” muttered Clint as Bucky strafed him with semi-automatic gunfire. He dropped the controller into his lap and held his hands up in front of his face. “I think I’m getting a bit shaky from all the coffee and lack of sleep.”

Bucky snorted. “Excuses, excuses. We both know that if we were on the range and your senses were all fine, you’d be hitting bullseyes even after twice as much coffee and twice as long awake.”

Well, that was true. Clint had made some of the best shots of his career after two or three days without sleep. “Just let me have my delusions, will you?” he said, picking his controller up again as he respawned. 

He glanced out of the window at the lightening sky and wondered when they could declare this a success. If he managed to get through breakfast with the team without going blind, that had to be it, right? And then he could go have a nap, because frankly, as much as he hated being blind, he didn’t want to spend the day not able to feel either. Having Bucky sat right next to him but not being able to touch him was a special kind of torture.

He didn’t even really want to kiss him until he could feel it properly. Bucky had clearly worked out that Clint needed space, because he’d cut out all the casual touches and kisses that usually accompanied their gameplay. It made Clint feel weirdly cut off from him, as if they were playing in separate rooms. He fucking hated it. As soon as he was able to feel again he was going to strip them both of their clothes so that he could lie right on top of Bucky and feel his skin pressed against every inch of Clint’s.

His character came back to life and he clutched at the controller, determined that this time he was going to get Bucky. The first shaft of sunlight crept through the crack in the curtains and he felt a surge of hope that staying up all night was actually working, then feeling flooded back into his hands. He could feel the hard plastic of the controller against his palms, the smoothness of the buttons under his fingertips, the ridge of the hood of his hoodie wedged between his neck and the sofa.

“Oh!” he managed to say, and started to turn to Bucky, but by the time he’d completed the movement everything was black. “Fuck!”

There was a clatter as Bucky dropped his controller, then a hand was pressed to his cheek. “It changed,” said Bucky.

“Yep,” said Clint. “Fuck. I thought I was going to make it.” He let his controller fall and reached out for Bucky, touching his face briefly before sliding his hand through his hair, then falling against him and wrapping his arms around him.

Bucky held on just as tightly, rubbing a hand over Clint’s back. “The sun’s just come up,” he said. “Dawn must be the trigger.”

“So, if we get the quinjet and just fly around the world to avoid the dawn…” started Clint, then gave up. “Fuck it, okay, this is happening. And now we know.”

“Yeah,” said Bucky, very quietly. He pressed a kiss to Clint’s forehead and Clint moved back so that he could capture his lips properly, because at least he could do that now. “C’mon,” said Bucky, and Clint could feel him reaching to pick the controller back up and the quiet beeps as he went back through the menus to shut the game down. “Let’s go to bed.”

“Yeah,” said Clint, with a sigh. “You’re taking all your clothes off for it, by the way, I want to feel your skin.”

Bucky laughed. “Yeah, I think I can handle that.”

“I’m gonna run my hands all over you,” promised Clint. “Gonna feel every inch.”

Bucky stood up, pulling Clint up with him. “Let’s get right on that,” he said, dragging him towards the bedroom. Clint kept an arm looped around his waist, reaching out with one hand to check where the doorframe was. Sex, then sleep, then he’d only really have a few hours of being blind to get through before he moved on to being deaf. He could manage that.

****

He stayed on the base while he was blind, then couldn’t find the energy to go back to the farm the next day either. He could go and get some DIY done, but Bucky was still needed on base while SHIELD worked through the intel about Doom’s plans, and he didn’t really feel like going on his own.

Doom attacked another tech company the next night, dragging the Avengers out of bed. Clint stayed curled up under the covers and made smug comments about being warm and cosy while Bucky threw on his combat gear and glared at him.

Clint didn’t stay there once they’d left, though. He couldn’t just lie there and go back to sleep while his team were fighting. He got up and took his comforter and a pillow to the conference room where he could watch the fight. There were more Doombots involved in this one, some of them obviously being used as cannon fodder in order to keep the team busy and give the ones stealing the tech time to get away.

Clint moved two chairs so that he could stretch out between them, wrapped in his comforter and with the pillow wedged under his head, and watched with drowsy eyes. 

After he’d been there about fifteen minutes, Bruce shuffled in, then paused in the doorway, clearly not having expected to find anyone else there.

“Hi, Bruce-cycle,” said Clint. Bruce started to say something, but Clint shook his head. “I’m deaf and tired, you’ll have to turn a light on, come closer, or not bother speaking.”

_Okay,_ signed Bruce, and Clint blinked with surprise, because he hadn’t thought Bruce was part of the ASL 101 class Natasha had been teaching for a few months now. _Just asking why you would compare me to a bicycle, but after the spruce explanation, I’m not sure I want to know._

Clint managed a grin and waggled his eyebrows in a way that he hoped was enigmatic and didn’t reveal that he hadn’t really had any reasons behind it.

Bruce came in and sat down on a chair, watching as Natasha somersaulted over a Doombot and hit it in the back with her Widow’s Bites.

“It’s hard watching them fight without you,” said Clint, and got a nod in response. He hesitated, then added, “Do you ever miss it? Being on the team? Having her back?”

_No,_ signed Bruce. _I was never the one that was on the team in that way anyway. The other guy was the one watching her back._

Clint nodded to himself and looked back at the screen, which meant he almost missed Bruce adding, _I don’t miss it, but he does._

Clint had never really heard him talk about the Hulk unless he had to, and certainly not as if he were anything other than a burden. He knew that Natasha and Bruce sometimes took a quinjet off up into the middle of a forest so that the Hulk could come out and let off some steam, but he hadn’t ever really considered if the Hulk would like to be doing more than ripping up pine trees and playing games with Natasha.

Bruce saw his look and shrugged. _He basically exists to protect me. I hate to admit it, but that’s it. He protected me from the gamma rays that should have killed me, he protected me every time someone tried to hurt me, or even when it was me trying to hurt myself, he even took over and just let me hide for a bit back when I needed protecting from my emotions, after Ultron. When he fought with the Avengers, he got to protect other people as well, and now he doesn’t. He misses that._

Clint considered that. “I bet he also misses getting to smash stuff.”

Bruce laughed. _Yeah, that too._

On screen, the team had already taken out most of the Doombots, but three jets took off with stolen tech before they could get to them. Vision, War Machine and Falcon went after them, but Clint didn’t bother watching what happened to them in favour of focusing in on Bucky, who was taking out the last Doombot with Cap’s help, filling it full of bullets then slamming his metal arm into its chest. Steve’s shield took the top of its head at the same time and it wobbled, then collapsed. Bucky hopped back out of the way, but Clint could see him biting out a curse as it landed on his foot.

He rested his finger on his print to feel a brief surge of pain, followed by a wave of irritation that matched with Cap saying something to him that Clint couldn’t see to read properly, but which made Bucky scowl.

He could already think of three jokes he’d be making if he were there, but they probably weren’t quite as sassy as whatever Steve had come out with.

_The other guy’s not needed, though,_ said Bruce. _What would he have done if I’d gone there? Smashed a lot more stuff, probably doubled the property damage? Not worth it._

“He’d have been able to watch over Natasha,” Clint pointed out.

Bruce raised an eyebrow at him. _Do you really think she needs that?_

Natasha was talking to a security guard, one hand on her hip as she gestured at the remnants of Doombot. She had barely even ruffled her hair during the fight and looked completely in control.

“Not even a little bit,” said Clint.

Bucky glanced around at the pieces of destroyed Doombot that littered the scene and Clint felt a surge of satisfaction through their link. A moment later, Bucky slipped his hand up under his body armour to read his own print and Clint concentrated on feeling amused at how predictable he was. Bucky rolled his eyes, then glanced around for the nearest camera and gave it a smirk Clint knew was just for him.

_I’m going back to bed,_ signed Bruce, standing up. _Good night._

“Night,” said Clint. He took his hand off his print and thought about going back to bed as well now that the fight was apparently over, but moving seemed like too much effort. He snuggled down further into the comforter and rested his head on the back of the chair, watching with half-lidded eyes as Steve directed everyone to start the clear up, talking to the local police and the security from the tech company. 

Bucky was lumped with clearing up the pieces of Doombot that had ended up scattered everywhere, chucking them all into a crate for SHIELD to take away and study. It meant he did lots of bending and stretching, which Clint appreciated. It was relaxing to watch.

He wasn’t even aware he’d fallen asleep until there was a hand on his shoulder. He opened his eyes to find Bucky leaning over him, looking amused.

When he saw Clint’s eyes were open, he pulled his hand away to sign along as he said, “Hunting around the base looking for my missing soulmate isn’t exactly the best way to relax post-mission, you know.”

Clint reached back for his hand, because he was perfectly happy to lipread if it meant he got to hold Bucky’s hand at the same time. “I was comfy,” he said, pressing his cheek against Bucky’s hand. “How was Doom?”

Bucky gave the screen a pointed look. “You already know.” 

Clint shrugged one shoulder, then struggled to sit up from his relaxed slouch. “How’s your foot?”

That earned him a huff and an eyeroll. “Fine. This is why I wear massive boots, right?”

“Also because you look hot in them,” said Clint. He stood up and stretched. “We going to bed?”

Bucky glanced at his watch. “Fuck it, why not? It’s that or get roped into yet more fucking intelligence briefings about fucking Doom.”

“I can’t possibly get involved in those,” said Clint. “I’m deaf, can’t do meetings.”

“Your aids will work again now,” said Bucky. “It’s after dawn.”

Clint blinked and glanced at the window. There was a faint gleam of sunlight behind the blinds. “Oh. Wow, you guys took ages to clear up.”

“Fuck off,” said Bucky.

“If I’m not gonna be able to taste a cup of coffee, I’m definitely going back to bed,” added Clint. He wrapped an arm around Bucky’s waist and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “C’mon, sexy super-soldier soulmate, let’s go snuggle.”


	5. Chapter 5

The next day, Bucky talked Steve into giving him the night off from being on-call so that Clint could make good on his promise to take him out dancing. 

They went down to New York to stay with Tony so they could go to a club Clint had carefully researched, one that played big band music so they could do what Bucky called ‘proper dancing’. If he was going to apologise by taking him out, he was going to go all out. 

He’d also asked Tony to get his tailor to sort him out with a proper three piece suit in a 1940s style, which had exactly the effect he’d been hoping for on Bucky, so they ended up leaving about half an hour later than planned.

“Now who’s a genuine 1940s pin up?” purred Bucky, hands running down Clint’s waistcoat.

“Still you,” said Clint, kissing him. “I mean, I’m just playing dress up, but you’re the real deal.”

And he was hot as hell with it, especially when he gave Clint that charming little grin that said he knew exactly how he looked.

Frankly, they were lucky that they weren’t far more than half an hour late, and that they’d made it out of the bedroom at all.

Clint had been hoping they wouldn’t get recognised, but apparently that was a stupid thing to hope when clips of you killing a dragon and then falling hundreds of feet were still occasionally being repeated on 24-hour news channels.

“That was so cool when you just shot the fucker in the mouth,” said a wide-eyed young man as Clint tried to get a couple of drinks and then escape the crush at the bar.

The girl with him gave him a frown. “God, you’re so violent, Darren. That was a living creature that died.”

“A living creature that was trying to kill me,” put in Clint before he could stop himself, and got himself a glare.

“That doesn’t make killing it ‘cool’,” she said. “Killing is never ‘cool’.” Her glare was mainly aimed at Darren though, so Clint just nodded and gave a vague smile.

“Yeah, that’s true,” he agreed.

“Oh, come on Kayleigh, stop being such a bleeding heart,” said Darren, which Clint could have told him was going to be a bad idea. Kayleigh’s eyes narrowed and her mouth hardened.

Bucky leaned against Clint’s back, reaching around him to grab his drink from the bar. “There’s definitely nothing cool about plummeting hundreds of feet,” he said. “Or nearly getting burnt alive. Or-” 

Clint turned his head so that he could shut him up with a kiss. Man, thank god they weren’t still keeping this a secret and he could happily kiss his soulmate in public while he was wearing a sexy-as-hell suit, hot damn.

“Yes, yes, your point has been made,” he said, dropping a few dollars on the bar and grabbing his own drink. “Look how alive and well I am right now though. Well enough for dancing.”

He turned around, leaving Darren and Kayleigh to continue their argument. “Well enough to look damn sexy in a waistcoat,” agreed Bucky, grinning at him.

Clint did a little shimmy, then regretted it when his ribs pointed out that they weren’t properly healed yet. Screw it, he was out dancing with his soulmate, they were just going to have to put up with it.

“You know, Stevie would love this place,” said Bucky as he lead Clint through an upbeat swing number that Clint was just about able to keep up with. 

“No good,” said Clint, shaking his head. “He’d want to bring a partner, and-” He shrugged a shoulder rather than spill Avengers secrets out loud in a public place.

Bucky’s mouth twitched downwards but he nodded. There was only one guy Steve would want to dance with, but as long as they didn’t want anyone to know that they were soulmates, he and Sam were going to have to stay on base for any dancing they wanted to do.

It was late enough to be early when they got back to the Tower, but neither of them was even close to wanting to go to sleep.

“You’re so fucking hot when you’re dancing,” said Bucky, pressing Clint up against the wall of his bedroom and kissing him while Clint ran his hands through Bucky’s hair.

“As hot as I am when I’m shooting?” he asked, when they finally pulled their mouths apart.

Bucky snorted. “Yeah, no. Nothing’s that hot.”

Clint pressed his hips up against Bucky’s, sliding his leg between his so that he could press his thigh against the hard line of his erection. “I don’t know, I can think of some things,” he said. “Mostly super-soldier related, obviously.”

“Oh, obviously,” said Bucky breathlessly, leaning in to kiss him again. “Sam’s gonna be pissed if you’ve been ogling Steve again, though.”

Clint laughed. “Nah, he’d be fine with it. He understands that sometimes I just can’t help myself. Steve’s just the hottest super-so-”

He didn’t manage to finish the sentence, because Bucky growled and kissed him again, consuming his mouth until Clint had completely lost his train of thought and was thrusting his hips against Bucky’s. “Bed,” he said, the next time he had a chance. “Or, fuck it, here’s fine, but I need…” He pushed his hands up underneath Bucky’s shirt, running them over the smooth heat of his skin. “Less clothes,” he managed.

“Bed,” said Bucky, pulling away. “We can do it against the wall when your ribs are healed.”

Clint couldn’t keep in a whine of disappointment as Bucky moved away from him, but watching him pull off his shirt and dump it on the floor made up for it. He followed, stripping out of his clothes as quickly as possible, dropping his pants and underwear at the same time before pulling off his socks. He paused before dropping them, giving Bucky an innocent look. “Wait, should I go find a laundry basket for these?”

Bucky growled and ripped them out of his hand, throwing them away, then wrapped an arm around Clint’s waist and pulled him down onto the bed. Clint pressed himself against Bucky, warm skin all along the length of his body, and went back to kissing him, one hand tangled in his hair and the other one stroking down under the waistband of his boxers.

“Why are you even still wearing these?” he muttered and Bucky rolled them over, bracing himself above Clint for a moment to grin down at him. “Good point, no idea,” he said, then sat up to pull them off. Clint just lay where he was and enjoyed the view.

“Man, I really did get the hottest super-soldier,” he said, running his eyes over the lines of Bucky’s shoulders to his abs, the sharp lines of the muscles of his hips, the thick strength of his thighs. Steve was hot, but there was something overly perfect about his body, something vaguely like a Ken doll rather than a real person. Bucky’s body was a hundred percent real, every part of him built of efficient strength and so fucking lovely that Clint couldn’t take his eyes off it.

Bucky straddled Clint’s hips, running his hands up Clint’s stomach to his chest and giving him a heat-filled smirk that went straight to Clint’s cock. Clint ran his hands over Bucky’s thighs, enjoying the feel of his leg hair brushing against his palms. Man, there were so many ways to appreciate Bucky, using every single sense he had, how the hell was he meant to be okay with only ever getting to enjoy four of them at a time? It might only be his sense of smell that was dead right now, but that was still an element of being close to Bucky that he didn’t want to live without.

Bucky’s print stood out darkly against his skin and Clint ran a hand up his side to circle around it. “How the hell has it been a year?” he asked, trailing fingertips over the sharp line of Bucky’s abs and then running them back around towards it.

“No idea,” said Bucky, taking the wrist of Clint’s other arm and turning it so that he could look at Clint’s own print. “Feels like yesterday sometimes, but then others I can’t remember what it was like not to have you in my life.” He met Clint’s eyes, then carefully, deliberately, pressed his fingertip to Clint’s print.

Clint sucked in a breath as Bucky’s love for him flowed through the link, tinged with the arousal Bucky was feeling right now. He stopped his own teasing, running his hand to Bucky’s print to complete the circuit, pushing his own love and affection into Bucky as Bucky’s came back to him.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to this. The thought that Bucky could feel so much for Clint, that his love would still have a tinge of wonder to it after a year, as if he found the whole thing just as unbelievable as Clint did, would never have occurred to him. If they hadn’t been soulmates, if they’d fallen in love without having prints, Clint would never have had the solid reality of Bucky’s feelings to wrap himself in like this. Would he have even believed it possible? He couldn’t imagine the words alone meaning as much as this did, right here, this moment where they could both make it clear exactly how much they loved the other.

Fuck, Clint loved Bucky so much. He pulled in a breath and shut his eyes for a moment so that all he could feel was Bucky’s love for him, then opened them to focus on Bucky’s face.

“Are you gonna fuck me while we’re linked?”

It wasn’t something they’d done before, for all that it was a romantic cliché. Keeping their fingers lined up with each other’s prints wasn’t the easiest thing while having sex and Bucky usually found it too overwhelming to stay linked for more than a minute or two in any case. Clint got that. It was a lot of emotion when you were feeling both your own love and the other person’s, but it was their anniversary and he loved his boyfriend and, damnit, maybe he wanted to have a little cliché.

Bucky rocked his hips, pressing his ass against Clint’s erection. “Nah,” he said. “I’m gonna ride your cock while we’re linked.”

“Oh,” breathed Clint as the idea sent a rush of arousal through him that lined up with the same thing Bucky was sending through his print. “Yes, that’s a great plan, I am very up for that.”

Bucky laughed. “I know, I can feel that,” he said, rocking his hips again.

They had to let go of each other’s prints to sort out the lube and all the other preparation, but once Bucky had lowered himself onto Clint’s cock, he reached out for Clint’s arm again, gripping at it to keep himself steady as he pressed his finger to Clint’s print. Clint stretched his arm up Bucky’s side to rest his finger against his print, and Bucky drew in a slow breath, closing his eyes for a moment before he rocked himself on Clint’s cock.

“Fucking hell,” breathed Clint. The combination of emotions flowing into him and the incredible way Bucky’s ass felt around his cock was so close to too much that for a moment he thought he was going to be the one that bailed on it, then he took in the blissful look on Bucky’s face and realised there was no way he could turn this down.

“I love you,” he said, the words dropping out without any input from his brain.

“Yeah,” breathed Bucky. “I can feel it.” He shifted his weight, lifting up and then fucking down onto Clint’s cock. “Can feel something else as well.”

Clint could feel him feeling it as well, feel his lust and satisfaction at being so close to Clint through their link. “Fuck,” he muttered, because he wasn’t capable of anything more coherent. “Fuck, Bucky.”

Bucky sent him a sharp grin, and Clint felt a surge of amused affection through their link, just before Bucky started fucking himself properly and Clint lost track of everything in the rush of sensations, both physical and emotional. 

Bucky kept the place slow and steady, building up the intensity until they both had sweat standing out on their skin and Clint was clutching at Bucky to keep him in place, his finger pushing into his side to stay on his print as the love streaming through their link built along with their arousal.

“Fuck, Clint,” gasped Bucky, and his emotions pushed to a blinding intensity as he threw his head back, drove down onto Clint’s cock and came, clutching tighter at Clint’s arm.

Feeling Bucky’s emotions as he came was more than enough to send Clint over the edge as well, his orgasm shooting through him as his eyes squeezed shut.

It took a few breaths for him to recover enough to open his eyes. Bucky was staring down at him with a sated smile curving the edges of his lips up. Clint could feel the surge of affection roll through him, and hoped that Bucky could feel the same through his link.

“That was pretty good,” he said, and Bucky laughed, letting go of Clint’s print and then pulling away to drop onto the bed beside him.

“Yeah, that’s what your emotions gave me about it,” he said. “‘Pretty good’.” He leaned over and kissed Clint, slightly sloppily as they both tried to catch their breath. Clint rolled over to curl into him, wrapping an arm around Bucky’s waist but keeping his hand away from his print for now. That had been kind of a lot, he could do with a breather.

“Well, I mean, we could have done it against the wall,” he reminded Bucky.

Bucky snorted a laugh. “Yeah, and fucked your ribs up.” He propped himself up on his arm, giving Clint’s torso a frown. “They are all right?”

Clint rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he said. Well, they ached a bit, between the sex and the dancing, but it wasn’t as if it hadn’t been totally worth it.

“Right,” said Bucky in a sceptical tone, because he knew Clint far too well.

That was the price of having a soulmate. They ended up knowing you just as well, if not better, than you knew yourself. Like Clint knew that Bucky was only going to manage to lie still for another minute or two before he got up to go to the bathroom to clean up, and that he’d bring Clint a damp cloth to wipe himself with, as well as some painkillers and a stern look that made it clear he had to take them.

A year ago he had been freaking out because his soulmate was the Winter Soldier. He wondered how it had taken him so long to realise that it was Bucky Barnes who was his soulmate, and that that meant always having someone taking care of him.

“This has been a really fucking great year,” Clint realised out loud. “We better have tons more of them.”

“We’ll have our whole lives,” said Bucky, with all the strength of conviction that he usually brought to hating Hydra or telling Steve that he wasn’t allowed to jump out of any more planes without a parachute. “We’re gonna spend every year together. Right?”

“Yeah,” agreed Clint, closing in to kiss him. “That’s what soulmates are for, right?”

Bucky hesitated for a moment. “Right,” he said, slowly. “But even if we weren’t, I’d still want it. I want to spend my life with you.”

There was a weird note in his voice and Clint had a sudden fear that this was going to turn into an argument about retirement again.

“You will,” he said. “No matter what happens, how things change, we’ll still be together. Even if we’re not fighting together.”

Bucky gave him a long, serious look, then relaxed as he let whatever he’d been thinking go. “Yeah, I know,” he said, and leaned in to give Clint another kiss before he rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom.

Clint pulled himself upright against the pillows, wondering how long he could keep putting off a repeat of that argument. Hopefully up until he found a way to convince Bucky that he could stay as an Avenger without Clint.

****

They had breakfast with Tony and Pepper the next morning. Clint put on one of Bucky’s oversized hoodies and buried his hands in the pocket so that he could try and pretend he was getting used to the numb feeling of not being able to touch anything.

“How’s the ribs, dragon-slayer?” asked Tony.

Clint shrugged. “Getting there. The end of my medical leave for them is next Saturday, but…” He didn’t bother finishing the sentence. Next Saturday he’d be blind, unless by some miracle this curse decided it had run its course.

“I’m guessing from the gloomy gus looks you’re both sporting that Strange hasn’t come up with anything on this curse,” said Tony.

“Nope,” said Clint.

“Apparently he’s been asking around the community,” said Bucky. “No idea what that means, what the fuck kinda community deals with curses and magic and fucking dragons?”

“You’re quite angry about the dragon,” noted Pepper, mildly.

Bucky gave her a dark look. “You watch your soulmate nearly get killed by a mythological beast and then tell me how angry you are.”

She took a sip of her coffee. “I watched my soulmate nearly get killed by aliens,” she said. “I was pretty pissed about that.”

“You’re not the only one,” said Tony.

“Maybe you guys didn’t watch enough of _The X-Files_ ,” said Clint. “I’d been expecting an alien colonisation attempt for decades by the time the Chitauri rocked up.”

“Sir, the reporter from _Time_ is in the lobby,” said FRIDAY.

Tony let out a very long sigh. “Yeah, okay, send her up,” he said, then turned wide eyes on Pepper. “And you’re sure this is necessary?”

“Yes,” she said, standing up and draining the last of her coffee. “And I need to get going.” She bent down to kiss Tony goodbye. “Don’t say anything that will make my life harder.”

“Sure thing,” said Tony, way too easily. From the look on Pepper’s face, she knew she was asking too much.

Pepper got into the elevator as a tall, dark-haired woman in a black skirt suit stepped out. Tony waved his mug at her. “C’mon over, have some coffee. We don’t have to jump straight into how awesome I am, do we?”

“I thought I said that this wasn’t going to be a puff piece, Mr Stark,” she said, coming over. She gave Clint and Bucky a curious look, and Clint recognised the avaricious gleam of a reporter who was getting more than she’d bargained for. “Hi, I’m Morgan Laffey.”

“We’re not staying,” said Bucky. “Got to get back to base.” He sent Clint a look that clearly said _drink your fucking coffee already_. Clint returned it with a smile and took a very slow, very tiny sip of coffee because he hated reporters, sure, but he loved winding Bucky up more.

“Oh, I’m sure you do,” said Morgan. “Lots of important Avengers stuff to do. Can I just ask about your injuries, Clint? When are we going to see you back on the team?”

Oh right, that was why he hated reporters. They always went straight for the most intrusive questions, and called him by his first name as if they knew him while they were doing it.

“Not sure, depends on the doctors,” said Clint. “Ribs take an annoyingly long time, you know.” He gave her a bland smile that she returned with a sharp look that said he wasn’t fooling her.

“And can we expect any more Youtube videos from you? They are so good.”

“Not until my ribs are better. I’m not supposed to be shooting at the moment.”

Bucky snorted into his coffee at the same time as Tony made a deeply scathing sound. Clint gave them both the most innocent look he could manage. “What my doctor doesn’t know can’t hurt her.”

“I don’t think it’s her she’s worried about getting hurt,” said Bucky.

“Well, if I get hurt, that just means she gets to spend more time with me, right?” said Clint. “Who wouldn’t want that?”

“It’s hard to imagine,” said Tony. He set his empty mug in the sink and turned to give Morgan a smile that was a hundred percent fake. “Okay, you’re here to talk about my awesome business skills, not waste time with these losers, let’s go-”

“Sir, the Dover facility is under attack,” interrupted FRIDAY.

Tony’s too-cool-for-school slouch straightened. “Show me.”

A video appeared projected on the nearest wall showing Doombots engaged in a battle with Stark security forces.

“Fucking Doom again,” said Bucky.

“The Avengers have been notified and are on their way,” said FRIDAY, a split-second before Bucky’s phone went off with the Avengers alarm.

“Fuck,” he muttered, pulling it out and answering it. “Steve? Yeah, I’m with Stark, I got it.” He glanced at Clint. “I’ll fly the quinjet over, meet you there.”

Clint nodded to show that he was okay with being abandoned in Tony’s tower.

“FRIDAY,” started Tony, striding for the elevator. “Get-” He glanced at Morgan and blinked, “get everything routed to the security office, I’ll run things from there.” He gave Morgan a tight smile. “Sorry about this, back as soon as I can.”

“Oh, no problem,” said Morgan, glancing over at the screen that was still showing the fight.

Bucky hung up the phone and stood up. Clint itched to go with him, but he knew that even if he said he was just going to fly the quinjet and then wait for the others, he’d end up getting involved. Putting his ribs to one side, he couldn’t fight properly when he was fumbling his grip because he couldn’t feel things.

“Have fun,” he said instead.

Bucky nodded and held out his fist. “See you, Barton.”

Clint bumped it with his own fist, ignoring that he couldn’t feel Bucky’s skin because their rituals were more important. “See you, Barnes.”

Bucky headed off and Clint sat back in his chair, picking up his coffee mug so that he could cradle it in his hands. He fucking hated being benched like this.

Morgan was watching the fight on screen with a fascinated expression and Clint realised he was going to have to babysit her. He couldn’t just leave a reporter wandering around Tony’s tower on her own, and he knew for a fact that Tony hadn’t gone to the security office. Not when it was one of his own facilities being threatened.

“You might be better rescheduling and coming back another time,” he tried.

“Are you kidding?” she asked. “This is fascinating. Being right at the centre of things for a Doombot attack, watching how everyone responds.”

The camera glitched and flicked away to show another view, but not before Clint caught the distinctive sight of a Doombot being thrown through the air by a repulsor blast.

“FRIDAY, you’ll keep anything classified off screen, right?”

“Of course,” she said.

Morgan sent an amused look over her shoulder at him, which Clint ignored. He wasn’t going to be the one to get blamed when Tony’s frankly terrible secret-keeping failed and everyone found out that Iron Man was a lot less retired than he was meant to be.

“Do you find it frustrating to be sitting out?” asked Morgan.

“Oh yeah,” said Clint, and shrugged. “Can’t be helped though. You’ve got to take time to heal.”

“Of course,” she said. On screen, the Avengers minus Bucky were streaming out of a quinjet and throwing themselves into the fight. Clint watched them moving together as a team and thought about where he’d fit in if he were there. Behind Natasha probably, giving her a bit of long-range cover as she threw herself at a cluster of Doombots.

“And I suppose it must be tricky to fight when you can’t feel anything,” said Morgan. “Combat is very tactile.”

Clint whipped his head around to stare at her. “What?” he managed with a dry throat.

Her smile spread into a smirk and he jumped to his feet as magic swirled around her and then fell away to reveal a long black dress with a neckline that plunged right down almost to her navel, decorated with braided gold cords. She had a short staff in one hand that was topped by a glowing crystal.

“Oh shit,” said Clint. “FRIDAY, send-”

“No,” said Morgan, and a bubble of magic left her staff to surround the two of them. “I’m afraid you won’t be calling for help. We need to talk.”

Shit. Shit shit shit. “What the hell can we have to talk about?” asked Clint, glancing around for a weapon and coming up blank. Damn it, Tony, why the hell didn’t he keep an armoury in the kitchen like a normal person? If this were the Avengers kitchen on base, Clint would have had multiple choices. “I don’t even know who the fuck you are.”

“My name is Morgan Le Fay,” she said with dramatic emphasis, as if that should mean something to him.

“Uh. Right,” said Clint.

She scowled at him. “Morgan Le Fay! Queen of Gorre, High Priestess of Darkhold!”

“O-kay,” said Clint, slowly. “Where’s Gorre?”

She let out a frustrated noise that made Clint feel accomplished and waved her staff, blasting his coffee mug off the table with a bolt of energy. “Britain. I’m King Arthur’s half-sister,” she snapped.

Clint blinked. “Wait, like, centuries-old King Arthur? With Merlin and the round table and all that?” 

“I have travelled forward in time to accomplish my goals,” she said. “I am more than gifted enough for such a feat.”

Okay, so she was powerful and smug about it. Just what Clint wanted when he was trapped alone with her. He pulled at the dim threads of memory. “Okay, your name’s ringing a bell now. Wasn’t there some weird incest thing with you and Arthur?”

“This is irrelevant,” hissed Morgan, which probably meant there had been. Gross. “You should be more focused on the fact that I was the one who laid that curse on you. That was my dragon that you callously slaughtered.”

Clint curled his hands into fists. “Then you can just take the fucking thing off me,” he said. “Your dragon was trying to kill people, it needed to be put down. I’m not accepting some stupid magic punishment for it.”

Her smirk returned. “It’s not a punishment,” she said. “It’s an incentive. I need you to do a little job for me, and once you’ve done it, I’ll lift the curse.”

“No way,” said Clint. “Are you insane? No fucking way I’m going to do whatever the fuck evil thing you want me to do. Doesn’t matter what you threaten me with.”

“It’s not evil,” she said, then tipped her head to one side and corrected herself. “Well, evil is a difficult term to define. Let me just say that no one in this time will be hurt by it, or suffer from the consequences. I merely need an item that was stolen from me retrieved, and then I will return to my own time.”

“Nope,” said Clint. “I’m not doing it. I don’t work for bad guys.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you?” She waved her staff and the video of the fight shifted to an image of Clint fighting at Loki’s side as they escaped the collapsing SHIELD base with the Tesseract.

“I was brainwashed,” he said through gritted teeth. “Doesn’t count.”

“Ah,” she said. “Does this count, then?” The images changed to back when Clint was a teenager, on a burglary job with some of the guys from the circus.

“Not really, I was a kid who didn’t know any better,” said Clint. “You’re gonna have to try harder than that to make me into a bad guy.”

“Very well then,” she said, and the screen went back to showing the fight in Dover. Bucky had arrived and was fighting three Doombots while attempting to climb onto the roof above the lobby to take out another bot that was positioned up there as a sniper. It looked like fun. “Let me make things very simple for you. There is no way for the curse to be lifted or broken, unless I end it. You will spend the rest of your life as you are now, cycling through being blind, deaf, and so on.”

“I was kinda already deaf,” said Clint, to hide just how terrifying that sounded.

She waved it away. “You will be useless and weak, a burden to your soulmate and an irrelevance to your friends.”

That struck deep. Clint could imagine that all too easily, living out on the farm with Bucky hovering over him, having given up being on the team to look after him, while the others came by less and less often as their lives diverged.

He clenched his jaw. “I’d be able to get a dog, though. Several dogs.”

She laughed. “As if that will make up for the dead-end your life will become. There is another choice, though. You do one simple thing for me, and I’ll lift the curse so that you can get back to everything that’s important to you.” She ran her eyes over his body. “I’ll even take a few years off you so that you can keep up with your team for longer. Youth makes fighting so much easier.”

God, that was tempting. Or it would be, if he hadn’t just been reminded exactly why doing what a bad guy wanted you to do was a bad idea. Going along with the circus guys had left him with nothing.

“No thanks,” he said. “I’m still not doing your evil bidding.”

Her smile didn’t waver. “I told you, it’s nothing _evil_. In fact, it would require you to work against a group that you would likely consider evil. There is a cult called the Darkholders, have you heard of them?”

“Nope,” said Clint, crossing his arms. “Did you say you were a priestess of Darkhold?”

“The _High_ Priestess,” she corrected. “Those fools refuse to acknowledge my power, and stole a book that rightfully belongs to me. I need you to retrieve it for me.”

“You can go whistle for it,” said Clint. “If you want it so much, go and get it yourself.”

“They have made that impossible,” she said. “Their wards are all aimed at other magic users. An ordinary person like yourself will find it far easier to infiltrate their headquarters.” She touched her staff down on the table and a file appeared there. “The details of their security is all there. As well as details of all the crimes they have committed using that book, and the crimes that they still have the potential to commit. You have my word that when I have the book, I will return to my own time and never come back. I will be removing the evil the book represents from your time.”

Clint hesitated, and then hated himself when he realised she’d noticed that. He couldn’t do this. No matter how much he hated the curse, he wouldn’t do a bad guy’s work again. “No. You’ll need to find someone else.”

She regarded him for a long minute. “I have found my man. Bring me the book, and I’ll lift the curse.”

She waved her staff and the bubble of magic disappeared from around them and her clothes melted back into smart business wear. “I can tell this isn’t a good time. Please tell Mr Stark that I’ll be in touch to reschedule our interview.” She strode across to the elevator with a tap of high heels and Clint watched her go, then slumped back down into his chair.

Fuck.

No, seriously, _fuck_. What the hell was he going to do? If she had control of this curse, it wasn’t going to just wear off on its own. Was he really going to be stuck like this for the rest of his life?

Would knowing who had placed the curse on him help Doctor Strange break it? How much experience did Strange even have with the powers of a sorceress who had lived centuries ago?

Clint curled over to lean his forehead on the table and drew in a deep breath, pressing down the wild panic that rose up in his chest. He really, really didn’t want to spend the rest of his life being blind every five days. For all he’d been talking about retiring and getting a bunch of dogs, he didn’t actually want to be invalided out of the Avengers. Especially not if Bucky was going to follow him.

He stayed like that for several long minutes, taking slow, careful breaths and trying to force down the despair threatening to take him over.

When he raised his head to look at the screen, the Doombots had been largely contained. He rubbed an arm over his face. Right. Fuck. He needed to work out what he was going to tell Bucky. As soon as the fight was over and Bucky had a chance, he was going to read Clint and get smacked in the face with all this emotion.

Clint took several deep breaths and took control of himself. He pushed aside all consideration of this as a personal matter, channelling everything he’d ever learnt from Natasha about compartmentalising. He had control of his emotions, not the other way around, and he wasn’t going to let this mess spill over to Bucky and freak him out.

He cleared up the broken coffee mug, focusing on the broken pieces rather than the panic inside, and managed to pull himself together. He made himself another mug of coffee, then sat back down at the table.

The file was right in front of him. He stared at it then gave in to inevitability, opened it up, and started to read.

****

He was only halfway through when Bucky called to say that he was heading over to pick Clint up to go back to base. Clint packed their stuff up and slipped the file into his bag, then went up to the landing pad, hopping onto the quinjet as soon as Bucky touched down.

“How was the fight?” he asked, sitting in the co-pilot’s chair as Bucky took off again.

Bucky shrugged. “Same old. We took out a bunch of Doombots, Tony took down anyone trying to get anywhere near his tech with a vengeance, Steve made us stick around to clear up for way longer than was necessary.” He glanced at Clint as they passed out of the New York city airspace. “How was hanging out with the reporter?”

Clint opened his mouth to tell him exactly how it was, he really was going to come clean and tell him everything, but. Well. He hadn’t finished reading the file yet, he didn’t want to start a discussion until he had all the information, right?

Plus, he knew that the minute Bucky knew about this, he’d go after Morgan Le Fay and probably end up getting hurt, because being a super-soldier wasn’t any protection from magic. Clint should wait until he could tell everyone at the same time, and calmer heads could prevail over Bucky’s tendency to rush off in a rage.

It definitely wasn’t that there was part of him considering going through with it and knew Bucky wouldn’t ever let him. 

“Better once she decided not to bother waiting and fucked off,” he said.

Bucky nodded. “I can feel you were a bit churned up,” he said, gesturing towards his print. “Did she say something to you?”

Right, of course he wasn’t able to completely hide that from Bucky. Still, ‘a bit churned up’ was very different to ‘having a mental breakdown’.

“Not really, just kept asking about my injuries and being benched and that,” he said. “Got me thinking about this stupid curse, and whether or not I’m ever gonna be able to get to join you in a fight again, and exactly what we’re going to tell the press if I can’t.”

“Fucking media,” said Bucky. “Steve made me talk to the reporters after the fight.”

Clint perked up, and not just at the chance to change the topic of conversation. “Oh man, really? Your interviews are always the best.”

“That’s not what Erika says,” said Bucky. “In fact, that’s pretty much the exact opposite.”

“Ah, but Erika doesn’t see you like I do,” said Clint. “Or, at least, I really really hope she doesn’t.”

“Yeah, me neither,” said Bucky, glancing over at him with a smirk that made Clint want to reach out and touch him, clasp his shoulder or cradle his neck or-

There was no point, not until tomorrow. Tomorrow when he wouldn’t be able to see the smirk, but at least he’d be able to feel Bucky’s hair if he stroked it.

Of course, if he did what Morgan Le Fay wanted, he’d never have to worry about only being able to have one or the other again.

Fuck, no, he wasn’t going to think about this with Bucky next to him, not if he was going to be keeping it from him. 

Clint had expected to find the others waiting for them in the main lounge, all ready with popcorn to mock Bucky’s interview skills. Instead, Steve, Natasha and Rhodey were absent, and the others all looked pissed off.

“What happened?”

Sam made a face. “While we were dealing with the bots at Stark’s facility, there were stealth attacks on three other tech companies, all of whom lost research materials.”

“Fuck,” said Bucky. “It was a distraction.”

“Right,” said Sam. “Doom knew that we’d all rush off to protect Tony’s stuff without thinking twice about it.”

Clint sighed and collapsed onto the sofa next to Wanda. “When did we get predictable?”

“An algorithm to predict the Avengers actions in any given situation would be reasonable simple to program,” said Vision.

“Not helping, Vis,” said Wanda, tiredly. “We don’t actually want to be predictable.”

“Ah,” said Vision, settling down beside her. “Understood.”

“Can we at least watch Bucky made a fool of himself in front of reporters?” asked Clint.

“Maybe I didn’t make a fool of myself,” muttered Bucky, which drew disbelieving looks from half the room. He scowled and dropped into the seat next to Clint. There wasn’t much space on the sofa so he ended up pressed against Clint, making Clint very aware of how numb his skin was where he should have been able to feel him. He twitched and shuffled away to put a gap between them, and Bucky turned his frown on him. Clint pretended not to see it.

“Only one way to find out,” said Sam. “It’s gonna be ages before Steve and Natasha get out of the meeting, there’s no point in waiting.”

He picked up the remote and started to flick through to find the interview.

“Where’s Rhodey?” asked Clint, glancing around.

“He stayed to help out Tony,” said Wanda. “It felt like he took his best friend’s facility being attacked personally.”

“I think Tony took it personally as well,” said Sam. “Okay, here we go.” He paused the video on Bucky’s scowling face and glanced around at the room. “Are we drinking for this one?”

“It’s a bit early,” said Wanda.

“Just go for it,” said Clint, waving at the TV. He wanted to retreat to their room as soon as he could so that he could curl up in bed and read the rest of the file.

Except that thought made guilt curl down his spine, because he should be telling his team about Morgan. Keeping them in the dark on something like this was a dick move.

But if he told them, he’d lose any chance of negotiating with Morgan to take the curse off, and he’d be stuck like this for the rest of his life.

Fuck, he didn’t want to think about this. “Come on, come on, I want to see my soulmate being awkward.”

Bucky let out a long sigh.

“Okay, here we go,” said Sam, and hit play.

The video opened with Bucky striding up to the reporters with a look as if he were contemplating the quickest way to kill them all, but he cleared the look away when the first microphone was shoved in his face. He replaced it with a tense and very false-looking smile which wasn’t much of an improvement.

_“Bucky, what can you tell us about this incident?”_ called a reporter. _“Was anyone hurt?”_

_“A squad of Doombots tried to steal some of Stark’s tech, so we stopped them. No one was hurt,”_ said Bucky, then clearly remembered Erika’s pleas for him to elaborate during interviews rather than keeping it as short and sharp as possible. _“Well, the bots were reduced to shrapnel, and I think I bruised my knee, but nothing worth getting wound up about.”_

“Aw, sweetheart, your knee is worth it,” said Clint. “Don’t let anyone ever tell you it isn’t.”

“You can kiss it better later then,” said Bucky, and waggled his eyebrows at him. Clint grinned back.

_“Is this related to the other attacks by Doombots over the last few weeks?”_ asked another reporter.

Bucky shrugged. _“No idea.”_

There was a pause as the reporters waited for more while Bucky just stared back at them.

“Okay,” said Sam, “I know Steve told you not to speculate on any of the reasons behind the attack, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t want a ‘don’t know, don’t care’ attitude.”

“Then he shoulda sent someone else into the breach,” said Bucky. “Cuz, really, I don’t know what Doom’s up to, and I really don’t care. We’re gonna smack him down whatever it is.”

_“Should the public be concerned about more attacks?”_ asked the reporter when it became clear that Bucky wasn’t going to say anything else.

_“You’d have to ask Doom,_ ” said Bucky. _”Even if there are, I dunno that ‘concerned’ is the word I’d use. His robots are pretty easy to take out.”_

“See,” said Bucky. “There you go. Reassuring the public. Don’t know why you all think I’m bad at this.”

_“Are you advising the general public to take on Doombots?”_ asked one of the reporters.

On screen, Bucky paused, clearly realising that he was digging himself a hole. _”Of course not. All civilians should just run and hide and wait for the authorities or us to turn up and sort things out. Just, don’t be too worried while you’re doing it, seriously, I’ve had more difficult fights against farm animals.”_

There was a universal groan from the team. “Farm animals? Seriously?” asked Wanda.

“You did get the thing where we’re in trouble for perceived animal cruelty at the moment, right?” added Sam.

“Yeah, I wasn’t thinking about that,” admitted Bucky. “I was thinking that I knew a funny story about Steve being attacked by a couple of goats. Not that I got the chance to tell it.”

“You can tell it later,” said Wanda.

“Please tell it later,” said Sam. “When Steve’s out here to hear it, because you know how he loves hearing embarrassing stories about himself.”

“Definitely,” said Bucky.

On screen, the reporters jumped straight on his mention of animals. _“What do you have to say in response to PETA’s statement that the Avengers are murderers and cowards for killing a dragon?”_

_“Not a lot that our PR guys wouldn’t yell at me for,”_ said Bucky, grimly.

Clint sniggered. “Remember how Erika told you to be less honest with the press?”

“Yeah, that wasn’t gonna happen,” said Bucky.

On screen, he clenched his jaw and added, _“I guess what I’ve got to say is that something was trying to kill us, and nearly did manage to kill Clint, and it doesn’t matter what kinda creature it is, that means we’re gonna put it down. I’m not sure what PETA or whoever thinks we should have done instead, other than let it kill us and then start going after civilians.”_

_“Would you say you’re an animal lover?”_ asked another reporter.

_“Depends on the animal,”_ said Bucky. _“I’m not huge on animals that are trying to kill my soulmate.”_

“Oh man, PETA are going to put you on their blacklist,” said Sam.

Bucky shrugged. “I’ve been on the blacklists of worse organisations.”

“I really don’t think you have,” said Clint. “PETA are kinda terrifying.”

_“And the other Avengers?_ ” asked another reporter. They were all starting to get the faint note of desperation in their voices that was a sign they’d been interviewing Bucky for too long.

_“Oh sure,”_ said Bucky. _“Well, I mean, I don’t see most of them much around animals because there’s none on base, but Clint definitely is. He’s a massive dog fan. One of those people who can’t pass one by without asking if he can pet it, you know?”_

“Dude,” said Sam, with surprise. “Are you smiling? While talking to the press?”

“I don’t believe that’s ever happened before,” said Vision.

“Shut up,” said Bucky. “I was talking about Clint, of course I was smiling.”

Clint leaned in to reward that with a kiss, without stopping to think about why he’d been keeping his distance today. His lips pressed against Bucky’s but the lack of sensation that accompanied it made him pull back with a wince. Right, yeah, no kissing Bucky until tomorrow.

Bucky gave him a sad look that said he knew exactly what Clint was thinking, then turned his attention back to the screen.

_“I’m pretty sure we’re gonna end up with a whole bunch of dogs once we’re retired,”_ added Bucky, then shrugged. _“I guess I’m looking forward to that, so maybe there’s your answer on whether or not I’m an animal lover.”_

“Now I’m thinking maybe we should get goats as well,” said Clint. “You know, for Steve’s benefit.”

“He would appreciate that,” agreed Bucky.

On screen, Bucky glanced back over his shoulder to where the other Avengers were finishing the post-fight clear up, then looked back at the reporters. _“Okay, one last question.”_

_“Do you know when Clint is going to be back on the team?”_ snapped out a reporter as quickly as possible, just beating the man next to her.

_“He’s on the team now, but I’m guessing you mean when they’ll let him off the bench. The doctors get to make that decision, so it’ll depend on how much he annoys them when he has a check up.”_

Clint made a face. “When are we going to admit to them all that it’s not just bruised ribs? We can’t keep being vague about this.”

“You really want to announce you’re cursed?” asked Sam. “There doesn’t seem any point when it might wear off before your ribs are healed anyway.”

Except it wasn’t going to wear off. Clint was going to be trapped like this for the rest of his life. He watched the interview end with Bucky heading back to the others and wondered whether he was ever going to get to go on a mission or a call-out with the team again. Was he done with being an Avenger?

He’d retired once already, from his own choice, so it really shouldn’t hurt this much to be forcibly retired.

Sam clicked the TV off. “You know, you might actually be getting better at this,” he said to Bucky.

“The internet seems to think so,” said Wanda, who was already flicking through social media. “ _OMG Barnes is so freaking hot when he smiles, my panties just about melted,_ ” she read out in a deadpan voice, then raised an eyebrow at Bucky.

“Oh Jesus,” muttered Bucky.

“That happens to me when you smile as well,” said Clint, and earned himself a glare that made him feel better. At least he’d always have this grumpy fucker.


	6. Chapter 6

The next day, Natasha called an Avengers PR meeting that Clint tried to duck out of with the excuse of being both benched and blind. He wasn’t allowed to get away with that, though.

“If I have to suffer, you have to suffer,” said Bucky grimly as he marched Clint down the hall to the conference room.

“Aw, c’mon,” muttered Clint half-heartedly, but he let Bucky take him into the room and guide him to a chair. It was that or lie on the couch feeling sorry for himself.

He’d waited until Bucky went to spar with Steve yesterday, then taken Morgan Le Fay’s file up to one of the rafters to finish reading it. She hadn’t been wrong when she’d said the cult were definitely bad guys, or that the heist would be relatively easy. They had a compound in Massachusetts that she’d included blueprints for, and Clint could see three different ways to infiltrate without even doing his own recon.

That didn’t mean he was going to do it, though. And neither did the fact that he still hadn’t told Bucky or the others about it, or that he’d hidden the file in amongst his fletching supplies once he’d come down from the rafters.

There was a tap from the table in front of him. “Coffee,” said Sam’s voice, and Clint reached out to feel the mug.

“Aw yeah, this is why you’re my favourite,” he said, clutching it to his chest.

Bucky let out a sigh. “Sitting right next to you.”

Clint shrugged. “You made me come to this meeting.”

“I think you’ll find that I made you come to this meeting,” said Natasha from up ahead. “And I hate this kind of thing as much as any of you, so don’t bother whining about it.”

“I don’t mind them,” said Steve, and Clint could hear the shit-eating grin in his voice.

“You don’t get to speak, because you dumped this mess on me in the first place,” said Natasha. “Okay, so, we need to combat the current perception that we hate animals just because Clint killed a dragon. Unexpectedly, Bucky has actually done the most to help with that-”

“Good going, babe,” said Clint, reaching out for where Bucky was sitting until he hit something, then giving it a gentle pat. He’d been aiming for a knee, but he had a feeling he was a lot higher up than that.

“Don’t call me babe,” muttered Bucky, his hand taking hold of Clint’s and moving it slightly lower down.

“-because now we have a message of Clint-the-dog-lover,” carried on Natasha as if neither of them had spoken. “Which is great unless it means the evil guys all start using dogs to kidnap him.”

“That only happened once,” protested Clint.

“Which is one time too many,” said Natasha. “No one else here has been lured into a trap by a dog.”

Clint slumped. “No one else here knows how to live,” he muttered. “At least I never got attacked by goats.”

Steve let out a long sigh. “Those were _Nazi_ goats,” he said. “I was fighting them for the forces of good.”

“Bullshit,” said Bucky.

“Look,” cut in Natasha, “the longer we spend mocking each other, the longer this will take. Pay attention.”

There was a brief silence, which probably meant she was glaring at everyone. At least Clint was missing out on that.

“Right,” said Natasha. “As I was saying. Clint’s dog-lover status is working for us, and Erika’s actually been contacted by a couple of animal shelters who have asked if he’d want to go visit.”

Clint perked up. “They want me to come play with their dogs? Oh man, that is the best PR idea ever, I am totally up for that. Can I go tomorrow?”

Why the hell had he never realised that he could use Erika’s desperation for PR-worthy activities as an excuse to go play with dogs?

“We’re all going next week,” said Natasha. “Erika is organising an adoption drive with a number of different shelters in New York, and we’re all going to go and help out. We are _all_ going to play with all kinds of animals, and tell anyone who asks how much we love them and absolutely no one is going to do anything that might fuck up our best attempt at getting this whole stupid thing to go away. Do you understand?”

“Uh, I’m allergic to cats,” said Rhodey.

“Take a bunch of pills and suck it the fuck up,” snapped Natasha. “I am so done with dealing with PR bullshit, we are going to get this right, and then I’m never doing it again.”

Clint could hear Steve sniggering under his breath, which meant he was a much braver man than Clint was. He generally just nodded agreement and got the hell out of the way when Natasha had that note in her voice.

Clint cleared his throat. “Which day?”

“Sunday,” said Natasha. “You’ll be deaf. I did think about doing it the Monday, but it really needs to be a weekend day.”

Clint nodded. That made sense, even if he didn’t like it. But then, he was going to be spending the rest of his life having to timetable around this curse, he might as well get used to it, and deaf was better than blind. Or unable to touch, actually, if there were dogs to be petted. At least he had experience with being deaf.

Or he could go steal a book so that he could hear the dogs as well as see their adorable faces and feel their fur when he stroked them, and just tell the others that the curse must have just worn off.

Lie to his team, which included his soulmate, his best friend and Captain America. Yeah, that seemed like an excellent plan, totally on a level with most of his other plans. Like the one where he hadn’t immediately told them about the chat he’d had with a sorceress who was trying to coerce him into a crime. Whatever happened, that was probably going to come back to bite him in the ass.

Fuck it, he’d done it now, he’d deal with the consequences later. After he’d spent a day playing with dogs.

“I’ll just tell them I broke my aids or something,” he said. He squeezed Bucky’s hand. “I’m guessing you’ll be sticking close anyway, you can interpret for me.”

“I love the idea that you’ll be talking to anyone other than the dogs,” said Sam.

Clint grinned in the direction of his voice. “Can you blame me? Dogs are so much better than people.”

“They’re definitely better than goats,” muttered Steve, then there was the sound of a chair being pushed back. “If you’re done, Natasha, I’ve got some stuff to brief you guys on as well.”

“Go ahead,” said Natasha. There was a rustle of paper and Clint squeezed Bucky’s hand again to distract himself from the frustration that he didn’t know if that was Natasha picking her notes up, or Steve setting his own down. If he could see what Steve had with him, he could make a guess on how long they were going to be trapped here before he could go back to sulking on the couch and failing to decide what to do about Morgan Le Fay and her fucking file.

“I’ll keep this quick,” said Steve, which was a relief. “Fury and his people have finished going through all the data from the Doombot attacks. All the tech they’ve been going after is related to drones.”

“Drones?” asked Sam. “Why the hell would Doom need drone tech when he has his own flying robots?”

“No idea,” said Steve. “We don’t have any sources within Latveria.”

“What kind of tech did they get away with while we were at Tony’s facility?” asked Rhodey. “Was it military?”

“Yes,” said Steve. “That’s the bad news. They got away with parts of a new kind of military drone that several different companies are working on. It’s not enough to build a complete prototype but given Doom’s engineering skills, he can probably fill in the gaps.”

“Great,” said Bucky, with a sigh. “So, what? Next time it’s going to be Doombot drones?”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” said Rhodey. “His bots are as advanced, if not more advanced, than any military drone would be.”

“Yeah, that’s what we’ve been stuck on,” said Steve. “Fury’s guys are on it, but at the moment we’re stumped.”

“Great,” said Clint, with a sigh. “Here’s hoping it turns out to be nothing serious and he’s just playing games because he’s bored.”

“Yeah, that seems likely,” said Natasha. “The evil megalomaniac sorcerer dictator is just baiting us.”

“I mean, it’s what I’d do,” said Clint.

“And that’s just one of several reasons why we’re all very grateful that you’re not an evil megalomaniac sorcerer dictator,” said Rhodey.

Clint pictured it. “I could get myself an army of dogs in little capes,” he said. “They would be so cute.”

“Steve, can we add a rule to the handbook?” asked Bucky. “No becoming an evil megalomaniac sorcerer dictator just for the army of dogs in capes.”

“So, if I had another reason as well, I could get away with it?” asked Clint.

“Depends on the reason,” said Bucky.

Clint thought about it for a moment. “How about, because I want to see my soulmate in harem pants?”

“What,” said Bucky, flatly, as someone on the other side of the table started to laugh. Sam, maybe.

Clint nudged Bucky with his elbow. “C’mon, you don’t think it would be hot to be my concubine?”

“Does Doom have concubines?” asked Rhodey.

“No,” said Wanda. “And if he did, they probably wouldn’t be in middle Eastern outfits.”

“Because he has no sense of style,” said Clint. “Besides, I don’t want concubines plural, just Bucky.”

“Can we change the subject before we get more information on Clint and Bucky’s sex life than anyone here will ever need?” asked Natasha. “As it is, I’m not sure I’m ever going to be able to shake the image of Bucky dressed up like Sheherazade.”

Bucky let out a very long sigh. Clint grinned in his direction. “It’s cool, I couldn’t really cope with the pressure of being a dictator. Seems like it’s probably a lot of work.”

“Putting capes on a whole army of dogs?” said Rhodey. “Yeah, that’s gonna take time.”

“Do you think Doom puts the capes on his Doombots himself?” asked Sam. “Or has he built a second lot of bots whose job it is to do that for him?”

“Guys, guys,” interrupted Steve. “It feels like we’re getting a bit off-topic here.”

“I don’t know,” said Wanda, slowly. “Maybe that’s it. He stole the tech to build an army of drones to put capes on his Doombots.”

“Okay,” said Natasha, “I don’t think we’re going to get much further with this right now.”

“Good call,” said Steve. “Meeting adjourned.”

Clint immediately stood up, keeping hold of Bucky’s hand so that he could drag him up with him. “Awesome, let’s go see if we can order harem pants in your size off Amazon.”

“No way,” said Bucky.

“Have faith,” said Rhodey. “You can get almost anything off Amazon.”

“I am not being your concubine,” growled Bucky, and Clint felt his grin widen, because he loved being able to provoke that kind of sexy tone from him.

“Maybe I’ll be yours then,” he suggested.

“Seriously, get a room, would you?” said Rhodey, passing behind Clint on his way to the door.

“Excellent idea,” said Clint, pulling Bucky towards the door while groping out with his other hand to make sure he didn’t run into the wall. “Come on.”

Because as long as they were having sex, he wasn’t stressing over the file while guilt at keeping it a secret weighed down on his stomach.

****

Sex with Bucky was always great, but it wasn’t really something Clint could fill his whole day with and it didn’t take long once they were finished for the creeping sense of dread and the soul-deep depression about his future to set back in.

It didn’t help his mood that Bucky hovered over him as if he couldn’t manage to fill a couple of hours on his own without mortally wounding himself while he was blind.

In the end, he persuaded Bucky that he was perfectly capable of running on a treadmill without being able to see, which meant Bucky was able to work out while being in the same room as Clint. Which was good for Bucky, but even without being able to see Bucky worrying, Clint could still feel his gaze on him, like he was a toddler that needed constant supervision.

_This is going to drive me nuts if he doesn’t calm down,_ thought Clint, picturing a future of being mollycoddled stretching out in front of him. His stomach lurched as the heavy realisation that this was going to be it for the rest of his life settled in.

Unless he took Morgan Le Fay up on her deal. Fuck.

“Hey, I’m gonna go to the farm tomorrow,” he said to Bucky when they were heading back up from the gym. “I’ll have three days that I can work on the bedroom before I go all clumsy from not being able to feel.”

Bucky was guiding him with an arm wrapped around his shoulders, which was making Clint twitch with the need to be independent for a bit. Being alone at the farm for three days would be just long enough to remind him why he hated being alone and independent, and that everything was better when Bucky was around.

“I can’t leave base until we’re sure this thing with Doom is over,” said Bucky.

“I know,” said Clint. “I’ll be back on Friday. I’ve got to go to the doctor on Saturday for the all clear on my ribs, and then Sunday is this dog thing.” And the day he’d have to make a decision on whether or not he was going to officially retire or just keep pretending that one day he was going to be able to be an Avenger again.

Or maybe he’d just be on the team two days out of five, for the days it was only his taste or smell that wasn’t working. Except that relied on the missions not lasting long enough for dawn to come and rob him of his ability to feel things, and it wasn’t like Avenging was something that came with a fixed timetable.

Bucky was silent for long enough for them to arrive at the door to their room. He stopped Clint while he opened it. “Yeah, okay,” he said, sounding just as tired as Clint felt about the whole thing. “If that’s what you want.”

It wasn’t what Clint wanted. What he wanted was to have all five senses working, or at least the four and a half that he was used to, so that the minute the doctors said his ribs were okay, he could jump straight back into beating Doombots up. He wanted to not have this constant sick feeling in his stomach and the weight of that hidden file in the back of his mind, demanding he tell his team about it.

Fuck. He really should tell them, but once he did, that was it. That was him admitting that he was never going to be free of this. He wasn’t ready to do that yet.

Bucky helped him to the sofa and he sat down again, curling his feet up under him as he slumped into the cushions. A moment later he reached down and pulled his socks off, then hesitated instead of dropping them on the floor.

“I can’t see where the basket is,” he said.

Bucky took them from his hand. “I’m just impressed you remembered there is one.” There was a shuffle of material and then the sofa depressed with the weight of Bucky sitting down. “I’ve felt how this whole thing is messing with you,” he added. “I don’t want you to go to the farm without me, but if you think that’s gonna be best for you, then go ahead. Just, if you need anything…”

“I’ll let you know,” promised Clint, guilt rising up in his chest. Bucky must have read his emotions and assumed all the misery, indecision and guilt he was feeling was solely about being struck with this curse.

Fuck, he really should tell him about Morgan.

Once again, he didn’t. He was just going to have to accept that he was an asshole who was going to keep this a secret even when he shouldn’t.

“I’ll get the bedroom sorted and then we’ll be able to have everyone to stay again,” he said. “The weather’s almost good enough for another barbecue, right?”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” said Bucky, but there was a sad note to his voice that made Clint feel even more like shit. Ugh, he was the worst soulmate, Bucky didn’t deserve any of this.

****

The farm was too quiet without Bucky. Clint found himself spending far more time slumped on the nearest soft surface going back over Morgan’s file than he did on DIY. He read over the crimes the cult were responsible for, and the things she claimed they could do with the book, and tried to convince himself that he’d be working for the greater good if he stole it from them.

That wouldn’t be his reason, though. He’d be doing it for selfish reasons, because he couldn’t face living with this curse and giving up being an Avenger.

Bucky kept up a stream of texts that mostly just made Clint feel worse, although he hoped his responses didn’t give that away.

_I won the run with Steve this morning. He wasn’t expecting so many booby traps._

_We’ve been in this briefing about Doom for nearly two hours, and so far the only thing I’ve learnt that I didn’t know before is that Sam was on a ping-pong team when he was a kid._

_Is all that guilt about killing the dragon or have you done something fucked up to the farm?_

Clint hesitated on that last one. Right, of course Bucky was reading his emotions while he was gone. He really should have seen that coming. What the hell was he going to tell him? Everything inside Clint was churned up into a horrible mess, there was no way Bucky could have missed that. Thank fuck it was only emotions you got and not actual thoughts, or there would be no way Clint would be able to keep this a secret.

He let his finger slide to his own print so that Bucky’s emotions opened up in his mind. It really didn’t feel like he was having a good day, all knotted up with worry, upset and frustration, and the low level background of anger that Clint had got used to was spiking up higher than normal. There was also a thread of loneliness and sadness which Clint did his best to ignore, because he missed Bucky too but that didn’t mean this wasn’t the best place for him right now. If he wasn’t going to steal the book, he’d have to retire, so they’d both have to get used to spending time apart like this.

_I’m a mess, I don’t know that I can clarify anything I’m feeling,_ he sent back in the end. _I keep thinking about having to retire, and what that’s gonna mean for us._

His phone rang and he answered it with a sense of inevitability.

“It won’t mean anything important,” said Bucky without bothering with a greeting. “Whatever happens, we’ll be together. Where you go, I go, right?”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” said Clint. “I don’t want to be the reason you leave the team. You can’t leave just because I am.”

Bucky let out an impatient sigh. “I’m not staying without you. Clint, I hate this, being apart like this. It’s not so bad when it’s just a couple of days because you need some space, but I can’t do it permanently.”

“It wouldn’t be permanent,” said Clint. “I’d still come stay on the base, and once this thing with Doom is wrapped up you’ll be able to come out here.”

“Until the next thing,” said Bucky. “It’s not exactly the kinda job where you can work from home.”

The worse thing was that he was right. If Clint retired and Bucky didn’t, they’d spend a lot more time apart than they did now, and some of that time would be when Bucky was off on a mission or in a fight, in danger without Clint able to back him up.

“Fuck,” muttered Clint, curling up into a tighter ball and dragging a blanket off the back of the couch and over his head. “I hate this. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.”

“I know,” said Bucky, very quietly. “Clint, I get it. I fucking hate it too.”

Clint squeezed his eyes shut. What the fuck should he do? Just accept that his and Bucky’s lives as Avengers were over, or give in to Morgan Le Fay and steal this damn book?

“Tell me about Sam’s ping-pong team,” he said, because he was the king of avoidance.

Bucky drew in a deep breath but he didn’t point out that just pretending it wasn’t happening wasn’t going to get them anywhere, he just started talking about Sam.

Clint really did have the best soulmate.

Bucky didn’t, though. He deserved a soulmate who wasn’t hiding something this important from him, who wasn’t getting increasingly tempted to just give in to the bad guy in order to get his life back.

****

The sun was shining on the day of the adoption event. Clint’s ribs had been declared fine the day before, which meant he should be making a decision on retirement but he’d successfully managed to push that aside by deciding there was no point in thinking about anything until the event was over.

Especially not when he knew it was going to trigger the argument with Bucky that they kept putting off. He wondered how long they could keep deferring it. Did he need to actually officially retire, or could he just live in limbo forever?

No, that would just mean he had this creeping underlying sense of anxiety forever. He needed to make a decision.

Just, not right now. Not until after playing with some dogs.

The event had taken over a park, where the different animal shelters had all set up their own areas. Volunteers were bustling about setting up tents and awnings, hanging banners, putting out leaflets, and making sure all the animals were all right.

“Dogs,” said Clint. “Oh god, Bucky, look at all the dogs.”

He couldn’t take his eyes off them to see if Bucky had responded, but when he tried to make a beeline for the nearest one, Bucky caught his arm and held him back. Clint turned a glare on him.

_Steve says we need to meet the organisers and Erika and get our marching orders,_ signed Bucky.

Clint whined and glanced back at the dogs. “But...dogs!”

_Later_ , signed Steve, with his ‘I am Captain America, do as I say’ glare. Clint slumped and followed the others over to the main marquee, where the organisers were gathering.

He didn’t catch most of the conversation with them. He was pretty good at lip-reading but there was only so far that would get you in a large group of people, most of whom didn’t bother making sure he could see their mouths. It was probably just all the usual welcoming bullshit that people came out with when the Avengers turned up at one of their events, so he wasn’t that bothered. Particularly not when he spotted a teenage boy carrying a box of puppies while trying to keep them from clambering out and up his shoulders.

_Be right back,_ he signed for Bucky’s benefit and dashed over to help, grabbing the most adventurous one before it upset the boy’s whole balance.

“Hello, puppy, are you trying to escape?” he said, lifting it into his arms. It was black and white and so fluffy, and it gave him a blissfully happy look as he cuddled it close.

He tore his eyes away to catch the tail-end of the boy saying something. “Oh, sorry, not got my hearing aids in today, didn’t catch that.” Another puppy put its paws up on the edge of the box and gave him a tongue-lolling grin of mischief, distracting him for a moment before he could tear his eyes back to the boy’s face. 

“Tell you what, you just head wherever these guys need to be and I’ll follow,” he said, just as the puppy in his arms decided Clint needed a bath and licked a wet trail up his neck. Oh god, so cute, there had to be some way he could just take them all home, right? Some way without Bucky killing him?

The boy started walking and Clint followed, petting the puppy in his arms and occasionally making faces at the ones in the box to keep them entertained. They ended up at a tent containing a pen that the boy set the box down in with what looked like a sigh of relief. Clint gave the puppy a final stroke over the ears before setting him down with his siblings.

He looked at the boy with a smile that he hoped summed up how pleased he was to get to hold one of the puppies.

“Uh. Thanks,” said the boy, clearly not really sure what to be saying to an Avenger who was grinning like an idiot.

“Oh, no, thank _you_ ,” said Clint, hoping he was putting the right emphasis on to show how pleased he was. It was hard when he couldn’t hear himself speak, even with years of practice.

He gave the puppies one last look before he turned to head back to the Avengers. Bucky was watching him with a look of horrified realisation dawning over his face. 

He turned to Natasha, who was giving some kind of briefing that Clint should probably be paying attention to, and said, clearly enough for Clint to read it as he drew close, “Why the fuck did no one realise this is going to end with Clint adopting a dog?”

Natasha faltered in what she was saying and glanced over at Clint, who just kept grinning.

“They’re so cute!” he said.

“Oh god,” said Sam, signing along with his words. After months of practice, the whole team were fluent enough at sign to help Clint out when he didn’t have his aids, which was handy now that they weren’t any use to him every five days. “Is Fury going to let him bring a dog back to the base?”

“It’s technically Steve’s call,” Clint pointed out. “It’s the Avengers part of the base.”

Everyone turned to look at Steve, and Clint put on his very best wide-eyed look of pleading.

He wasn’t really being serious because he couldn’t just get a dog today without having done some planning first. Although, if he did, it could just live on the farm with him if he gave in to inevitability and retired, and actually, there was plenty of space in his and Bucky’s rooms at the base for a dog bed if Steve wasn’t going to kick up a fuss about that, and both places had plenty of open space for a dog to run about in.

Oh man, maybe Clint could do it. He could totally do it. It would almost make up for this whole shitty curse thing.

“Bucky’s the one that will have to live with it,” said Steve, and Clint looked at Bucky, who groaned.

“I already live with a ridiculous puppydog of a man,” he said. “Do I really have to live with an actual dog as well?”

Clint shrugged. “Only if I find one I can’t resist,” he said. “I mean, I didn’t come here intending to adopt.”

“I love the idea of Clint being able to resist a dog. Any dog,” said Wanda. “Do you remember when he tried to pet that half-mad Rottweiler at the lab that was doing all those fucked up experiments?”

“That dog just needed some love,” protested Clint. “It only savaged me a little.”

“You needed thirteen stitches,” pointed out Bucky, because he kept track of the unimportant things.

Erika came over with a group of Important-Looking People and the kind of smile that said she was on the verge of a breakdown but doing everything she could to hide it. “Hello, guys,” she said. “Let me introduce some of the other VIPs.”

Clint glanced at Bucky, who was signing along for him. Erika ran through the introductions, all of which Clint blanked on, then there was some of the usual social niceties from Steve, which Clint didn’t bother paying attention to either.

_Did I miss anything important from Natasha?_ he interrupted Bucky, rather than let him keep going.

_Not really,_ said Bucky. _Don’t upset anyone, don’t accidentally kill any animals, the usual. We’re all going to be scattered across the different shelters and organisations. Me and you are going to be with the service dogs._

Clint clicked his tongue and shook his head. _Sending the disabled guy to the service dogs, that’s hardly original._

Bucky raised an eyebrow. _Well, if you want we could swap with Wanda, she’s going to be with the cats. On the other side of the food vans from any dogs._

He raised an eyebrow in a pointed manner and Clint crumbled. _Nope, no, service dogs are good. I mean, cats are okay, but they’re not dogs, right?_

Bucky shrugged. _I quite like cats. Probably about as much as I do dogs._

Clint stared at him with betrayal. _How the hell are you my soulmate?_

Bucky just grinned at him, then pointedly turned his attention back to where Erika was running through the plan for the day. Apparently Steve was going to have to give a speech. Man, it sucked to be Steve.

****

Clint wasn’t actually unhappy about spending his morning hanging out with service dogs and, even better, puppies being trained to become service dogs. The worst bit was having to occasionally look away from the dogs in order to interact with the public, but as that was kinda the point of the day he did his best not to completely blank all the people in favour of the dogs. Bucky stayed close to him, nudging him whenever someone spoke to him and signing anything he missed, which Clint had a feeling he was using as a way to avoid having to talk to anyone himself.

 _Are we here all day?_ he asked Bucky, in the lull after a ten minute interrogation from a ten-year-old girl about why the Avengers didn’t have a dog when the Scooby Gang did. Clint had just about got through to her that their missions were too dangerous for an actual animal to cope with, which was when she’d moved on to the idea of Tony building them a robot dog. Clint had actually been rather taken by that idea, but he had a feeling Steve wouldn’t go for it.

Tony would definitely go for it. Maybe if Clint casually mentioned it to him next time they were drunk?

_No, we’ve got lunch with the bigwigs in about an hour,_ signed Bucky. _Then I think we’re all getting moved around._

Clint made a face. _Think I could get away with having lunch with the dogs instead?_ His phone vibrated in his pocket at the same time as Bucky pulled his out.

_AVENGERS ALERT,_ said the screen. Bucky leapt to his feet as he saw his own alert, then caught Clint’s eyes, clearly having the same realisation Clint had.

He might be off medical leave for his ribs now, but there was no way he could go into a fight without his hearing. Not with the team; he’d probably be okay if he was on his own but if he couldn’t hear the comms, then he was a liability.

_MEET BY QUINJET,_ flashed a message from Cap.

_See us off,_ signed Bucky, and Clint got to his feet and followed him at a jog, ducking through the crowds and ignoring any attempts to catch their attention.

He felt sick in the depths of his stomach as he spotted the rest of team running over. He wasn’t going to be going with them and he didn’t know when he ever would be again.

Steve was waiting at the quinjet for them. “Doombots,” he said, then signed it when he spotted Clint. “We need to go right now. Are you coming?”

Clint hesitated, then shook his head. “Having someone not on the comms is a recipe for disaster.”

“You could just fly us out then wait in the quinjet,” said Bucky.

“No,” said Clint. “No way I’d be able to just sit tight and watch.” He glanced around at where Erika was heading towards them, scowling at the disruption of her carefully-planned PR event. “I’ll stay here. Try and cover for you all.”

Steve nodded and turned to go on board the quinjet. Clint glanced at Bucky and gave him a helpless shrug.

“Have fun,” he said. “Stay safe.”

Bucky scowled, then glanced at the gathering crowd and held out his fist. “So long, Barton.”

Clint bumped it with his own. “So long, Barnes.”

Bucky followed the others onto the quinjet and Clint stood back for it to take off, trying to suppress the feeling of being left behind like a useless broken toy.

This was going to be his life now. Unless he gave in to Morgan Le Fay’s coercion and got his senses back.

Erika arrived to stand next to him as the jet flew off, then tapped Clint’s shoulder to catch his attention. “If you’re all I’ve got left, you’re going to have to do more than play with some dogs,” she said, then frowned. “Can you understand me? Do we need to find you an interpreter?”

“I can read your lips,” said Clint, “as long as you’re facing me, but I’ll probably need one if you’re gonna need me to gladhand people. Too many people mumble.”

“Right,” she said, nodding. “We can find one, there must be someone here. Thank god you’re still on medical leave, or this whole thing would be a disaster. Come with me.”

She strode off towards the main tent and Clint trailed after her.

****

By the time Bucky texted to say that the fight was over and he was heading back over to pick Clint up, the event was mostly over. Clint had done his best to charm the VIPs in the absence of anyone better suited to it, then somehow ended up giving the speech Steve had been meant to give. He did cut out some of the more Captain America bits, on the theory that he couldn’t deliver that much inspiration even on his best days and definitely not when he couldn’t hear himself talk and was mainly just focused on not slurring or going quiet.

After that, Erika let him wander the event with the interpreter she’d found from somewhere, a teenage girl who looked as if she was going to die of nerves but who was fluent in ASL and knew how to direct his attention to whomever was trying to talk to him.

By the time most of the public had left and the shelters were starting to take the animals home, Clint had escaped from Erika and found a place to camp out in the corner of a marquee with a couple of dogs who seemed to be tired out by all the crowds. Clint was a little tempted to just curl up on the pile of blankets the staff had spread out for them and go to sleep, but he had a feeling that being found napping with a couple of dogs would put him in Erika’s bad books. Instead, he sat beside them and slowly stroked over the fur of the nearest, a yellow mutt with one eye that it kept trained on Clint even as its eyelid drooped.

“Who’s a good dog?” asked Clint, aiming for quietly and hoping he hit it. “Putting up with all these people today?”

The dog rested its head on its paws as if in agreement. Around them, shelter staff were packing up their banners and leaflets and starting to dismantle the tables and other furniture they’d been using. Clint’s interpreter, Lena, had found a chair to collapse into.

“Thanks for your help today,” he said to her, not wanting to sign while he was busy stroking the dog. “Were you already helping out, or did you get dragged in?”

She shrugged and signed, _My dad was helping with the service dogs and volunteered me. I was only going to be hanging around with him._

“I guess this gives you a cool story to tell,” said Clint. “‘Guess what I did at the weekend? I followed the least interesting Avenger around while he got distracted by dogs.’”

That won him a smile. _You’re not the least interesting Avenger,_ she signed and he raised his eyebrows in disbelief. _Vision seems pretty dull,_ she added.

Clint laughed. “The super-powerful android who can walk through stuff? Yeah, nothing interesting about him.”

She shrugged. _You do the videos. I like those, especially when you do bits in sign._

“Cuz you get to feel smug that you don’t need the subtitles?” guessed Clint, and she gave a sheepish smile.

_Yeah, okay, but I guess I always like it when you’re unapologetic about being deaf. Like not wearing your aids today because you don’t need them 24/7, right? They’re a help, not a crutch. I hate it when people tell me that it must be hard that my dad’s deaf, or that it’s brave of my mom to be with him, because it’s such bullshit. My mom’s way braver for marrying a guy who thinks it’s okay to wear crocs in public than she is for marrying a deaf guy. It doesn’t make any difference to us, it’s just who he is, and now I get to point at you and say ‘Hawkeye’s deaf and he saves the world, why the hell do you think my dad can’t be a normal dad?’_

Clint had no idea what to say to that. He never did when people talked about him being a role model or whatever, especially when he was used as representative of the deaf community, because it wasn’t like he was really part of it. He was lucky enough to have hearing aids advanced enough to make his hearing pretty much normal, and despite what Lena had said, he did wear them pretty much all the time. 

_Sorry,_ she signed a moment later. _I didn’t meant to be so full on. I’m mostly just pissed that my school counsellor tried to give me a leaflet for a young carers camp last week. When the fuck have I ever had to take care of my dad? They wouldn’t give that shit to the Winter Soldier for looking after you._

Clint snorted. _I would love to see Bucky’s face if they did,_ he signed back. _He’d probably agree with them, actually. Not because of the deaf thing, but I’m kind of a mess sometimes and he’s the one who has to deal with that._

Like when Clint got kidnapped or injured, or accidentally buried himself under the wood pile in an unforeseen avalanche.

Or was cursed. Except Clint wasn’t going to let Bucky be the one to take the hit on this, he was going to sort it out himself. Somehow.

_I stopped my dad coming here in a fishing hat,_ said Lena. _I wouldn’t mind going on the camp for having to police his outfits._

The dog lifted its head and prodded Clint’s knee, and he realised he’d got distracted from petting it. “Hey, sorry boy,” he said, ruffling its ears. “That is, I’m assuming boy, you might be a girl.”

Lena nodded over at a guy from the shelter who was packing leaflets in a box nearby. _He’s says it’s a boy. Called Lucky._

“Lucky,” said Clint, and the dog lifted his head in acknowledgement of his name. “Lucky the one-eyed dog. Guess we’re both a bit damaged, hey, boy?” He glanced back over at the guy from the shelter. “How did it go for him today? Is he going to get adopted?”

The guy shook his head. “Probably not. People aren’t that interested in an injured dog, they just start thinking about vet bills.” Lena signed his words for him, but the guy had turned towards Clint enough for him to read his lips.

“Aw, boy,” said Clint, stroking down over Lucky’s flank. “How can no one want you? You’re lovely.”

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out one-handed so that he could keep stroking Lucky. It was a message from Bucky.

_Just landed the quinjet. Whereabouts are you?_

Clint glanced at the name of the shelter who owned the tent and texted it to him. _Hiding from Erika, don’t let her know where I am. I’ve done enough PR today, I can’t face any more._

Lucky rolled over to put his head in Clint’s lap and Clint shoved his phone away to pet him properly. Poor guy, unwanted because he’d been injured. Clint knew how that felt.

“Is it just the eye?” he asked. The shelter guy reached over to pull a sheet off the bulletin board above the table and handed it over. It was a rundown of Lucky’s history and personality, along with a couple of cute photos of him. Nothing stood out as a warning sign and Clint looked back down at Lucky, thinking about how he might as well give himself something to be happy about if he was probably going to end up retiring. No one had actually seemed against him getting a dog earlier, so he’d probably be able to take him to stay on the base when he went to see Bucky.

Bucky walked into the tent, took one look at Clint and the dog, and let out a sigh.

_I guess I should have seen this coming,_ he signed. Clint held out Lucky’s information sheet in response.

“He’s perfect,” he said. “His name rhymes with yours! What more could I want in a dog?”

“Oh god,” said Bucky, looking over the sheet and then back at Clint. “You’re explaining this to Steve.”

Clint just grinned at him.


	7. Chapter 7

Lucky was surprisingly relaxed about flying in the quinjet, hopping up on a seat and curling himself into a comma. Clint sat next to him and kept one hand on his back, but he didn’t so much as twitch when Bucky took off.

“That’s a good boy, nothing to be worried about,” said Clint, stroking over his back. “Hey, can we stop at a pet store so I can pick some stuff up for him?”

“In a quinjet?” said Bucky, glancing over his shoulder so that Clint could read his lips.

Clint considered that, then shrugged. “Sure, why not? We’re trying to push the idea that the Avengers are all animal lovers, right?”

“Good point,” said Bucky. “I’ll find a place with a big parking lot.”

Clint beamed down at Lucky. “We’ll get you a bed, how about that? And some food, a couple of bowls and, oh man, we can get you some toys, yeah?”

“He’s gonna be spoilt,” said Bucky.

“Yup,” said Clint. “Don’t you think he deserves it?”

Bucky glanced at Lucky, and then at Clint. “I reckon you deserve a bit of happy. It’s good to see that look on your face.”

Clint rolled his eyes and tried to wipe the smile off his face, without any luck. How the hell was he meant to look less than thrilled when he had his very own dog beside him?

Bucky was laughing at him. Eh, he probably deserved it.

They picked up more stuff than they really needed, but not as much as Clint wanted, then headed back to the base. When Clint walked into the main lounge with Lucky at his side and Bucky following with all his purchases, the other Avengers turned, took one look, and then there was a flurry of money changing hands.

“Seriously?” said Bucky, setting down the shopping so that he could sign for Clint’s benefit. “Which of you idiots bet against Clint getting a dog?”

“I thought he’d at least wait until he’d talked to Steve properly about having one on base,” said Sam, also signing along.

Natasha snorted with amusement. “Clint adhering to rules and regulations, and the chain of command? Yeah, that seems likely.”

“Hey, there’s not a rule against it,” said Clint, rummaging through their bags to find the water bowl he’d bought Lucky. “Right? I mean, I didn’t read _all_ of the handbook.”

She waited until he was looking back up before correcting him. “You didn’t read any of it.”

“Not that there was anything about pets in it,” said Wanda, crouching down and holding her hands out to Lucky, who trotted over to say hi.

“I didn’t think there would need to be,” said Steve. Even his signing seemed resigned.

“So, I could get a goat?” suggested Rhodey, which earned him a glare from Steve.

“He’s lovely,” said Wanda, petting Lucky. “Are you going to call him Sergeant Whiskers?”

“He already has a name,” said Clint, finally finding the water bowl and pulling it out. “It’s Lucky.”

He headed for the kitchen to fill the bowl, which meant he missed the next part of the conversation. After a day of trying to keep track of who was talking so that he could focus on them, he was rather looking forward to just holing up in their rooms with only Bucky to talk to. And tomorrow he’d be able to put his aids back in and it was just his taste buds that would be dud.

He really had to make sure he ate that last doughnut tonight, it would be heartbreaking to leave it until tomorrow.

Lucky followed him into the kitchen, so Clint was able to set the bowl down for him and watch him drink for a moment, leaning back against the counter and thinking about all the other things he should do tonight. One stood out rather more dramatically than the others.

Steve followed him into the kitchen and looked down at Lucky, then back at Clint with a pointed look.

“Yeah, I know,” said Clint. “I just...no one wanted him because of his eye. How fucked up is that?”

_I’m not saying it was the wrong thing to do, or even that I’m surprised,_ signed Steve. _I just hope you’ve considered the practicalities of pet ownership when you’re on a team like the Avengers._

Clint shrugged. “That’s kinda the point though,” he said, then took a deep breath. “Because I’m not really on the team anymore, am I? I can’t be with all this going on.” He gestured at his ears to signify the curse. “And that doesn’t seem to be changing any time soon, if ever, so…” There was a sick feeling in his stomach but he pushed on. “I’m leaving the Avengers.”

Steve looked sad but not surprised. He nodded slowly. _I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this._

“Well, it has,” said Clint. “I don’t- I can’t be on medical leave forever, and I’m never gonna be any use like this. Two days out of five isn’t enough, you know that.” He could feel emotion rising up in his chest so he stared down at Lucky for a moment, hoping the sight of him would push it back down. Lucky glanced up at him, then came over to press his head against Clint’s leg. He put a hand down to fondle his ears then looked back at Steve.

“We won’t be here much, anyway. I’ll be taking him to the farm tomorrow, so you don’t need to worry about him getting in the way.”

_I’m not so much worried about that as I am that he’ll become the public’s favourite Avenger,_ said Steve.

“Well, I mean, that one’s kinda inevitable,” said Clint. “Especially once I get him a cloak.”

Natasha strode in with Wanda on her heels. _I need you to look cute with dog so that Wanda can instagram it,_ she signed. _Handbook Rule 23: If it will play well on social media, you have to let Wanda photograph it._

Clint grinned. “Why aren’t all my orders this easy?” he asked, crouching down to put an arm around Lucky, and getting a wet lick over his cheek as a reward.

****

He waited until he and Bucky were in their rooms with mugs of coffee and Lucky curled up on the sofa next to them before he mentioned his conversation with Steve. He kinda didn’t want to mention it at all because he knew it was going to be a fight, but it didn’t seem likely that Steve wouldn’t mention it to his BFF for long. It would be even more of a fight if Bucky found out that Clint had quit from someone else.

Of course, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to put it off as long as possible.

“How was Doom?”

Bucky raised his hands as if to sign, realised he was holding a mug and glanced around for somewhere to put it, so Clint reached out and took his other hand in his. He wasn’t going to let Bucky’s coffee get cold and be wasted when he could read Bucky’s lips almost as easily as Bucky could sign. That would be a criminal waste of coffee.

Bucky rolled his eyes, but let his hands drop back into his lap. “Same as always,” he said, turning towards Clint so that he could properly lipread. “Attacked a company called Aerovironment with his stupid robots, we had a fight and smashed most of them.”

Clint frowned. “Aerovironment,” he repeated. “Isn’t that the one that does all the military drone tech?”

“No idea,” said Bucky. “That sounds like Steve’s thing to worry about. I’m just here to punch Doombots.”

“And you look damn fine doing it,” said Clint. He took a sip of coffee, then looked down at Lucky, who had fallen asleep. “I’m gonna take him to the farm tomorrow.”

Bucky sighed and slumped back against the sofa, letting go of Clint’s hand to run a hand over his face. “I was afraid you were gonna say that. Couldn’t you stay a couple more days? Feels like I’ve barely seen you.”

“If I stay a couple more days, I’m not gonna be able to feel anything, and then I’m gonna be blind,” Clint pointed out. “Not really the greatest for trying to do DIY. Besides, I want Lucky to get settled in there and-” He stopped and had to take a deep breath. “I kinda told Steve I was retiring, and I don’t really want to be here when he tells everyone else, because you know how they all fuss.”

Bucky froze, and then carefully set his mug down on the table. Damn, if it cold anyway...well, Clint would finish it for Bucky. He couldn’t let any coffee, no matter what temperature, go to waste. “You told Steve you were retiring,” Bucky repeated, and the plates of his metal hand shifted as he clenched it.

“Yeah,” said Clint. “My ribs are all fixed but I’m not gonna be able to fight with this curse, and that doesn’t seem like it’s going to be going away anytime soon, so… You knew I was thinking about it.”

“Yes,” said Bucky. “I guess I was just hoping it wouldn’t come to this.”

“Yeah, well, here we are,” said Clint, tiredly, and ran a hand over Lucky’s fur.

“I’ll tell him I’m retiring as well tomorrow,” said Bucky, and a surge of anger leapt up in Clint’s chest.

“No. Fuck it, Bucky, you don’t have to retire, why would you? Don’t you think I’d love to stay on if I could? And you can’t leave now, not while we’re in the middle of this Doom thing, they need you.” 

“Sure,” agreed Bucky, “I’ll give my notice or whatever now and then leave when we’ve finished beating Doom’s stupid robots into the ground.”

Clint smacked a hand on his leg with frustration. “Don’t be stupid, you can’t just stop being an Avenger. We both know you’ll go nuts if you’re just at the farm 24/7.”

“I’ll go nuts if I don’t get to be with my soulmate,” corrected Bucky. “This isn’t your decision, Clint, it’s mine. You don’t get to make my choices for me.”

“I don’t have to accept them if they’re stupid decisions,” snapped back Clint.

Bucky scowled at him. “It’s not stupid. I want to be with you, you asshole. I love you. That’s more important than anything else.”

Clint shook his head, because what the fuck was he meant to say to that? “Love ain’t everything,” he said. “You need more than me in your life.”

“Sure,” said Bucky. “But I need you at the heart of it. I can get other stuff after.”

“You’ve got me,” said Clint, feeling like he was banging his head against a brick wall. “You’re always gonna have me, doesn’t mean we have to be on the same damn team. Look at Natasha and Bruce, you don’t-”

“I wish you’d stop fucking comparing us to Natasha and Bruce,” interrupted Bucky. “Just, stop all of this, Clint. You’ve told me what you’re doing, and I haven’t tried to change your mind. Now this is what I’m doing.”

Clint clenched his hand into a fist and slammed it onto his knee, clenching his jaw to prevent himself from saying anything he’d regret. “Fine,” he said, and stood up. “Then what I’m doing is taking the dog out. C’mon, Lucky.”

Lucky jumped up off the sofa as Clint grabbed his new leash. He didn’t look back at Bucky so he didn’t know if he said anything else as he left their rooms.

He took Lucky down to the woods that edged the range he and Bucky shared, letting him off the leash so that he could have a sniff around.

What the hell was he meant to do? There was no way he was going to be able to change Bucky’s mind. If he kept pushing, Bucky would just become more stubborn.

Clint could picture it all too easily. The first couple of weeks would be great, both of them relaxed and enjoying being on the farm, but after that Bucky would get antsy. He helped Clint with the DIY sometimes, but he wasn’t that great at it and he tended to wander off when it got to the technical bits. His runs wouldn’t have Steve on them to turn them more into a wrestling game, so he’d get bored on them and the only person he’d have to spar with would be Clint, who he always went soft on.

And, worst of all, he wouldn’t be an Avenger any more. Clint knew how much that meant to Bucky, even if he was pretending otherwise now. He could still remember how set Bucky had been on getting through that first mission so that he could get approved. It had only been a year since then. There was no reason for Bucky to have to walk away. No good one, anyway.

Fuck. This whole thing was a mess.

When he got back to their rooms, both their mugs of coffee had gone cold and things were even frostier with Bucky. Clint concentrated his attention on sorting out Lucky’s bed and making sure he had everything he needed, then climbed into bed without waiting for Bucky, keeping his eyes shut as if he were already asleep so that Bucky couldn’t start a conversation.

Three hours later he was still awake. He couldn’t stop the images of Bucky being bored on the farm out of his head, of him being angry that he wasn’t fighting with the others and getting resentful of Clint and then their relationship breaking down, which could happen even with soulmates, you had to work at these things and make sure everyone had what they needed, and Bucky wouldn’t have what he needed and it would be Clint’s fault and-

He did his best to stop the spiral by firmly telling himself that he was getting trapped in 2AM thinking, but it kept nagging at him. Beside him, Bucky was curled away from him, his breathing moving his chest with a slow and steady pace. He’d spent so many years being put through hell, how could Clint kill the bit of happiness he’d managed to find now?

How could he live with being the reason his soulmate was unhappy?

By the time the sun had come up and he’d felt a tingle in his ears as if they’d popped, followed by a numb deadness in his tongue that meant his taste had gone, he’d made a decision. He was going to have to steal Morgan Le Fay’s book back for her.

****

The cult had an armed compound about twenty miles north of Salem, which seemed like a predictable location for a bunch of evil wizards, but who was Clint to judge? Maybe they were just really committed to the aesthetic.

Hiding in a tree at the edge of the woods surrounding the compound, he amended that thought. They were _definitely_ really committed to the aesthetic. The place was built like a medieval castle out of shaped blocks of grey stone, and surrounded by an actual moat. The drawbridge was down but the portcullis was too, not that that was going to be a problem. He had a different route inside in mind.

Shit, he wished Natasha was here, she’d fucking love this. 

Well, no, she’d hate everything about this plan because it had started with Clint deciding to help an evil sorceress, but she’d have liked the bit where he was breaking into a medieval fortress.

A figure in a long black robe with a hood passed through the courtyard beyond the portcullis, carrying an actual candle. Holy shit, screw Natasha, _Bucky_ would love this. He had a thing about villains in stupid costumes, especially if they were completely impractical for fighting in.

Fuck, Clint shouldn’t be thinking about Bucky right now. He was meant to be maintaining his focus, not getting dragged back into the maelstrom of emotions that surrounded Bucky right now.

Bucky had come down to the quinjet pad to see Clint off, even though Clint had pretty much just refused to speak to him while packing up and getting Lucky ready to go to the farm. Having made his decision, he didn’t want to get trapped into another argument when the whole thing was going to be irrelevant in a few days. He’d get the book, get his senses back, and Bucky wouldn’t need to give anything up for him. He didn’t need to start another argument that would probably end with him saying something that he’d regret.

“Are you coming back for when you’re blind, or just staying out there?” Bucky had asked as Clint loaded his stuff onto the quinjet.

Clint had just shrugged. “Haven’t decided yet.” He didn’t really want to be alone when he couldn’t see, but his plan was to have stolen the book and gotten his senses back by then, so hopefully he wouldn’t have to.

“Right,” Bucky had said, clenching his jaw. He’d let out a long sigh. “Look, Clint, I can feel how much you hate this decision,” he’d said, gesturing to where his print lay under his clothes, “but I want you to know I think you’re making the right one. I just wish you could see that mine is the right one as well.”

A string of swear words had cascaded through Clint’s mind. The decision that Bucky had felt Clint hating was the one about stealing the book, not retiring. Why the hell hadn’t Clint realised Bucky would be reading him even though they’d argued? And, shit, he’d keep reading him while Clint was at the farm, which meant he’d feel whatever emotions he had while stealing the book and handing it over to Morgan Le Fay, which was bound to drag up some conflicting stuff. That was going to ring all kinds of alarm bells to Bucky and probably end up giving the whole thing away.

His whole stupid plan was already doomed to failure, because Clint was an idiot who thought keeping secrets from his soulmate was a good idea.

For a moment, he’d considered giving in and spilling everything to Bucky, and then he’d gone and done the stupid, heartless thing instead because he was a shitty, terrible person.

“I wish you’d stop tracking me all the time,” he’d snapped. “I don’t need you babysitting me, I don’t need you hovering over me, and I don’t need you reading me all the time to check I haven’t got a fucking boo-boo. Why can’t you just give me some fucking space for once?”

Bucky had reacted as if he’d struck him. He actually rocked backwards as if absorbing a blow, shocked hurt taking over his face for a moment before he’d shut down with the blank mask he used to hide his emotions. Clint hadn’t seen it directed at him since the first couple of weeks he’d been on base.

“Fine, I’ll leave you alone,” he’d said. “Enjoy the farm,” then he’d turned on his heel and walked away, shoving his hands into his pockets and hunching his shoulders.

Watching him go had made Clint feel sick, and he still felt sick now, whenever he thought about it. He tried to tell himself that once Morgan Le Fay had taken off the curse and Clint could join the Avengers again, he’d have plenty of time to make it up to Bucky, but he had a feeling it wasn’t going to be that easy. There were only so many times he could fuck up before Bucky gave up on him, surely?

There was a clank from the compound and the drawbridge started to rise up with a rattle of chains. The sky was going grey as dusk set in, so that was Clint’s cue. He waited until it was up and all signs of movement had stopped, then dropped out of the tree and headed around the moat to the western wall. He paused under another tree and carefully pinpointed the weak spot he’d seen on the blueprints Morgan had provided for him.

About a storey up, and built of the same colour stone so that it was camouflaged unless you knew what to look for, was a square shape jutting out. It was an air duct leading down into the basement, because even medieval compounds needed ventilation, especially the ones that housed arcane magical ceremonies that probably involved burning shit. There wasn’t any security for the duct, presumably because the cult didn’t think anyone was going to be able to get over the moat and halfway up the wall to get to it, but they hadn’t been counting on Clint.

He pulled a grappling arrow out of his quiver, checked the roof to make sure there wasn’t anyone watching, then strode out from the trees to sink the arrow into the stonework above the vent. It caught and held when he gave it a tug, so he tucked his bow over his shoulder, grabbed the line hanging from the arrow as high up as he could, then sprinted forward and leapt over the moat.

He caught himself on the wall with his feet, then started climbing up the rope. Ridiculously easy, especially when he reached the top and pulled himself onto the edge of the vent to find it didn’t have any kind of bars or grill over the top of it. It was like they wanted him to crawl down it.

The thought checked him, because there was a good chance this whole thing was some kind of trap, although he wasn’t sure what a cult would get out of trapping him.

Fuck it, he wanted this curse done with, if it was a trap he’d deal with it. He lowered himself down into the vent, bracing his feet on one side of the stonework and his shoulders against the other so he could control his descent.

It went all the way down inside the wall, right down to the basement where it ended in a hole. Clint could see a tiny sliver of the room below him, but not enough to check that the coast was clear for him to drop down. He wedged himself where he wouldn’t be seen, dialed his hearing aids all the way up, and held still for five minutes, listening as hard as he could for any tiny sound that might mean someone was down there.

There was nothing. He took a deep breath and dropped down out of the vent, landing on his toes and bracing himself just in case.

He was in a room that was set up something like the potions classroom from Harry Potter. Wooden benches against the walls were covered in a mishmash of herbs, weird liquids in glass jars and a couple of actual cauldrons. One of them was balanced over a bunsen burner and letting off a weird green smoke that made Clint glad that today was a day he couldn’t smell anything.

There was no one in the room to monitor the cauldron but he figured they wouldn’t leave it alone long. There was a small barred window in the door that showed an empty corridor, so he crept out and turned left. According to the blueprints, there was a secure room in this direction that Morgan Le Fay thought was where they would keep the book. He just had to hope he didn’t run into any cult members on the way.

He passed by a couple of closed doors and then an alcove containing a coffin, which he tried not to think about too much, then edged his head around a corner to look at the door he needed to go through.

There was a cult member outside it, because of course there was. Nothing ever went this easily for Clint.

The robed guy was probably meant to be guarding it but he was slumped against the wall with his arms crossed, staring gloomily at the floor from beneath his hood. Clint was willing to bet that guarding the super-secret secure room in the basement was a punishment duty.

He ducked back around the corner and dialed through the arrows in his quiver until he could grab a knock-out one and notch it. He glanced back at the guard, who hadn’t moved, then sent the arrow into the wall next to his head and triggered the gas release. The guy had just enough time to whip his head around and stare at it before the gas knocked him out and he collapsed to the ground.

Okay, so maybe this was going to be easy after all. Clint tied the guy’s hands with the cord that belted his robe and ripped a bit of his sleeve off to shove in his mouth as an impromptu gag, then turned his attention to the door. It was a massive solid wooden door with a heavy black lock and iron nails studding the planks. Clint had it picked in about twenty seconds, and most of that was getting his lockpicks out of his pocket.

The room inside was octagonal and had shelves around the walls containing a mixture of books and miscellaneous occult artefacts: goblets, wands, bizarre statues and the like. Clint ignored all of it to focus on the heavy wooden table in the centre of the room, and the book placed on a lectern on it. That was the one he wanted.

There was a white circle inlaid in the flagstones around the table that Clint regarded with trepidation. Morgan’s notes had said that the magical protection would only react to a magic user and he’d be fine, but that didn’t mean he could trust her.

Well, okay, so the fact that he’d come here at all was probably a sign that he was already trusting her too much, but he hadn’t got to where he was today by paying attention to logic when making his terrible life choices.

If nothing else, he could probably trust that she wanted the book enough not to let him die here before he’d given it to her. Besides, there was no point in coming all this way and then giving up now.

He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and stepped over the line.

There was a tingle as a shimmer of pale blue light leapt up from the circle, passing over his skin. It converged at his nose and snapped against it with a shock like a static charge, then collapsed back down into the circle.

Clint made a face and rubbed at his nose. That must have been a reaction with the curse that was currently blocking his sense of smell. He was glad he hadn’t decided to do this when it was layered over his entire skin blocking touch.

He stepped forward to the lectern and pulled on a pair of gloves. Morgan Le Fay hadn’t put anything in the file about not touching the book, but Clint had had enough experience with dark magic items to take precautions. He’d brought a bag for the book, which he put it inside and then slung over his shoulder, next to his quiver. Okay, now he just had to get out.

He paused for a moment by the door before going back out, but there were no sounds and when he opened it, the cult member was still unconscious. If Clint was really lucky, he’d be able to get back to the air vent and climb back out before anyone even knew he’d been here.

Except, just as he was thinking that, he heard footsteps up ahead. Shit.

There wasn’t anywhere to hide, so he jumped for the ceiling, lying himself flat against it and bracing himself against the walls on either side, hoping like hell they wouldn’t look up.

Two cultists with their hoods pulled up came around the corner and he froze in place.

“You know that Gavin could have done this himself,” said one of them, and the other snorted.

“Get off his ass and actually climb down all those steps? Not likely.”

“Fucking dickhead,” muttered the other one, then they turned the corner at the end and caught sight of the guy Clint had knocked out earlier.

“Shit! Dave!”

Clint dropped back down as lightly as he could, and ran for it. He made it back to the potions classroom only to find the window in the door was now shuttered and there were voices coming from inside. Lots of voices. 

A moment later, a loud siren started blaring.

“There is an intruder on site,” announced an amplified voice. “All brethren start searching, we must apprehend them immediately!”

Somewhere in the distance, Clint heard doors opening and scurrying footsteps, and there was definite movement from inside the potions room.

Great, just fucking great. He took one last look at the door, then headed for where the stairs should be.

Cult members were moving around the basement now and he had to duck into a cupboard to avoid a pair scurrying past, then hide behind an elaborate candelabra to avoid another group. Shit, this was no good, he was going to get caught before he could get out.

He passed another alcove containing a coffin and snuck behind it to have a think. If he could get back up to the main courtyard, he could get out through the main gate. He just had to dodge the cult members running about the place. Somehow.

Shit, he really hoped Bucky wasn’t reading him right now, because there was no way Clint could pass these emotions off as related to the farm.

A cultist came around the corner on his own and Clint saw his chance. He braced himself, then as the man passed by, stepped out and clamped a hand over his mouth, pinching his nose shut and pulling him back into the alcove. He held him firmly until he stopped struggling, then gave it another few seconds just to be sure before laying his unconscious body down where it wouldn’t be seen. He stripped the robe off him, a little disappointed to find he was wearing black pants and a t-shirt underneath and not a ren faire costume or boxers with hearts on or something ridiculous like that.

The robe was large enough to go on over everything Clint was wearing as well as the bow and quiver slung over his shoulder, although he had a feeling it made him look a bit hunchbacked. He pulled the hood down over his face and pulled a knife out to hold in his hand, hidden up the wide sleeve, because he wasn’t going to be able to grab an arrow dressed like this.

He headed for the stairs with the same panicked scurry that all the cultists he’d seen had had, passing a couple of groups with his head down and his fingers crossed. No one gave him a second glance.

He got up the stairs to the courtyard and found it teeming with robed figures. Shit, how was he meant to get out the main gate?

They all just seemed to be milling about in a panic, without much purpose, so he blended in with them, keeping to the shadows at the edges of the courtyard. He was moving closer to the gatehouse with a vague plan of just making a run for it when a taller guy with an incredible beard strode into the courtyard with purpose.

“You!” he said, gesturing at the nearest group of cultists. “Go to the dorms, check everywhere!”

They ran off as the guy gestured at another group. He was wearing a different coloured sash to everyone else, so Clint assumed that meant he was in charge. “You lot go through the kitchen and dining rooms, and then stay there to make sure he doesn’t try and get out the windows there.”

Oh right, Clint could probably have got out there. Damn it, too late.

The bearded guy turned to the group nearest Clint. “You lot get over the moat, I want regular patrols around the outside so that if he does get out, we can grab him then.”

“Of course, Leader,” said the nearest cultist, with a little bow of his head. “Riley, get the portcullis, Neil, the drawbridge.”

Clint saw his chance, moving closer to hang at the back of the group.

“Who put Tyler in charge?” muttered someone, not quite loudly enough to be heard by the bossy guy. Someone else shushed him.

The portcullis raised up with a squeak of badly oiled chains, then the drawbridge thudded down. Clint fought the urge to pull at his hood and stared down at the flagstones, hoping like hell no one glanced over and realised they didn’t know who the hell he was.

He kept to the back as they all crossed over the moat, throwing a longing glance in the direction of the quinjet. He couldn’t just run off though, because the whole pack of them would immediately come after him.

“Let’s do this in pairs,” said Tyler. “Pair up, then just keep circling at intervals. If anyone sees anything, yell and we’ll all come running.”

“Seriously, he’s pissing me off,” muttered the discontented guy.

“Would you shut up, Larry?” hissed his friend.

Clint waited until most pairs had headed off and it was just him and the guy who thought they were about to pair up together. Clint was going to have to get rid of him or he wouldn’t have any kind of head start.

“Hey, what was that?” he asked, pointing off into the woods. 

The guy stared in that direction. “What?”

“I saw something moving,” said Clint. “Might have been a person. Come on, let’s get the bastard!” He dashed off into the woods and the cultist followed a moment later. Clint waited until they were far enough in to be out of sight, then whirled around and punched the guy right in the face.

It wasn’t quite enough to knock him out and he stumbled backwards clutching at his face. “What…?” he asked, then actually looked at Clint for the first time. “Oh! Oh, shit!”

Clint hit him again, harder, and he collapsed to the ground. Great, now he just had to get back to the quinjet, and he was away clear.

He pulled the robe back off and used it to tie the guy up, then jogged through the trees away from the base. He’d done it; mission accomplished.

So why the hell did he feel like he was making a horrible mistake?

****

When Clint got back to the farm, Lucky was overjoyed to see him. He set the book down on the porch swing so that he could make a proper fuss of him. It was so nice to have someone so happy to see him, without any reservations.

Just like Bucky was always happy to see him, before Clint fucked everything up by being an asshole. Clint ducked his head to press against Lucky’s fur and took a deep breath. Fuck, he’d stolen a book of evil magic and was about to hand it over to one of the oldest bad guys around. Even if she did only used it in her time, that would still mean people suffering because of his actions. How could he just hand it over?

And how was he going to back sure that she didn’t double-cross him once he did? He needed a plan.

Lucky pulled away from him and trotted to the steps to start barking and Clint turned to see a quinjet coming in to land.

Shit, who the hell…? Aw man, there was only one person.

He put his finger on his print and felt Bucky’s fierce surge of stubborn resolution. Oh god, this was going to be bad. Had he read Clint whilst he was stealing the book?

Clint grabbed the bag with the book in and shoved it underneath a cushion, then turned to face his soulmate.

Bucky strode across the grass from the quinjet as if he were about to take out a tank, determination etched in every line. Clint made himself hold where he was, Lucky pressed against one leg.

“Hey,” he said, once Bucky was close enough.

Bucky stopped at the bottom of the two steps leading up to the porch. “I’ve decided that we’re not going to do this,” he announced, clenching his fists as his shoulders squared up. He looked like he was expecting a fight.

“Do what?” asked Clint, his heart in his mouth. Was this it? Had he already lost him?

“Lose everything good between us over an argument,” said Bucky. “I love you, Clint. I love you so much I’m not sure how I’ve got space for all of it inside me. That’s why I don’t want to be apart from you, not ever.” He fixed a glare on Clint. “I want to fucking marry you.”

He pulled out a ring box and thrust it at Clint with as much force as a punch.

“I want to marry you, and be with you all the time, even if that means giving up being an Avenger.” Some of his belligerence slipped, and he added, “Please,” with an edge of desperation.


	8. Chapter 8

A proposal was pretty much the last thing Clint had been expecting. He stared at Bucky, unable to think, until Bucky started to tense and he realised he was leaving him hanging at the worst possible time.

“Jesus, Bucky,” he said in a choked voice, and stumbled down the steps to wrap his hand around the ring box, putting the other one on Bucky’s neck so that he could pull him closer and rest their foreheads together. “I love you too. I’m sorry everything’s been horrible.”

“We’re gonna work together to make it not-horrible,” said Bucky, with more confidence than Clint felt. “Saying you’ll marry me would be a great way to start.”

Clint opened his mouth to say yes, and everything came crashing down on him. He’d been lying to this guy, the best guy he knew, his _soulmate_ , for nearly two weeks now. He was still lying to him, had a nasty little secret hidden right there on the porch swing while Bucky was proposing to him.

The sick feeling he’d been trying to ignore ever since he’d spoken to Morgan rose up from the base of his stomach and engulfed him. He stumbled backwards, away from Bucky, and collapsed back onto the porch steps. 

“Oh god, I’m the _worst_ ,” he said. “Bucky, you shouldn’t marry me, you deserve so much better.” He could feel tears pricking at his eyes and he blinked them back angrily. Lucky nudged his head against his shoulder as if trying to reassure him.

“You’re kidding me, right?” said Bucky, crouching down to put a tentative hand on Clint’s knee. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, how the hell could I do better? If you don’t want to-”

There was a vulnerable note in his voice that made Clint interrupt. “Don’t be stupid, of course I want to. I just don’t think you’re gonna want to once-”

Fuck it. Fuck everything. He got up and strode across the porch to grab the book out from its hiding place. He shoved it at Bucky. “I’m an asshole,” he said. “And you’ll probably think I’m an idiot as well.” His stomach twisted. “And I’ve done a terrible thing.”

Bucky had to put the ring box away to take the book. “What’s this?” He opened the bag.

“Probably not a good idea to touch it,” said Clint, sitting on the porch swing and slumping over to rest his elbows on his knees. “It’s a book of unspeakable evil, or something.”

Bucky froze, then carefully closed the bag again. “And you have it why?”

Clint shrugged miserable. “Because I’m a fucking idiot,” he said. “An easily manipulated idiot.”

Lucky jumped up onto the swing and curled up next to him, and he set a hand on his fur. At least Lucky was still gonna love him at the end of this conversation. “So, you remember the reporter at Tony’s? The one I got left with when everyone jetted off to save the SI facility from Doom?”

“Yeah,” said Bucky, coming to sit on the swing the other side of Lucky. “Morgan something?”

“Yeah, well, turns out her actual name is Morgan Le Fay, and she’s the one who cursed me,” said Clint. “Apparently that was her dragon, so I guess she could channel her magic through it, or something? I don’t know, magic is fucked up.”

“Morgan Le Fay like from the Arthurian legends?” asked Bucky, because of course he knew that when Clint had had to have it explained to him. He actually read a book occasionally.

“Exactly like that,” said Clint. “She said she’d travelled through time to be here, although she didn’t say how. And yeah, before you ask, I did ask about the incest thing and she changed the subject, so I guess that was an actual thing.”

“That wasn’t what I was going to ask,” said Bucky. “She cursed you? Then why the hell didn’t you tell me? Or at least Strange or Wanda, who have been trying to find a way to break it.”

Clint looked down at Lucky, petting his ears. “Cuz she said the only way to get rid of it was if she took it off, and the only way she’d do that was if I kept quiet, and stole that book for her.” He nodded at where Bucky had put the book down. “And I know, okay? I know it was stupid to believe her, and even stupider to do it, but I couldn’t just give in and accept that I’m gonna be like this forever.”

Bucky was quiet for a worryingly long time. “This is why you told me not to read you?” he said. “Why you were so mad?”

Clint shrugged again. “I told you that you deserve better.” Misery was a leaden weight in his chest and he could feel tears threatening again. Any minute now Bucky was going to look at him with the disgusted disappointment that he’d seen on too many faces before, then he’d turn around, go back to the quinjet, and Clint probably wouldn’t see him again. 

“I couldn’t decide if I was going to do it or not, and then you said you’d retire at the same time as me and, I just…” He rested the hand that wasn’t petting Lucky over his eyes, rubbing at his temples so that he couldn’t see Bucky’s face. “I couldn’t let you do that.”

Bucky was silent again, then let out a very long sigh. “Fuck, Clint. You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah,” said Clint. “I told you.”

A hand gently touched his, pulling it away from his face so that he could see Bucky’s determined face. “I still want to marry you, though. You got that wrong.”

Fuck, was Clint really going to get this after all? Hope pushed his heart into his throat.

“We’re gonna fix this, and then we’ll get married. Yeah?” added Bucky.

There was a questioning note in his voice, as if there was any chance that Clint wouldn’t jump at the chance for that. Clint squeezed at his hand and choked down the swell of emotion so that he could say, “I would fucking love that.”

Bucky took his other hand as well, holding them both over the barrier of Lucky between them. “And even if we don’t, if you’re still cursed, I’m gonna want to marry you anyway.”

“Yeah, okay,” said Clint. He pulled in a breath and hoped it wasn’t as obvious as it felt that he was still on the verge of tears. “I guess I can go for that.”

Bucky’s face dissolved into a grin and he dropped one of Clint’s hands so that he could dig out the ring box again. “You gonna let me give you this, then?”

Clint rubbed at his face, scrubbing away the sting in his eyes. He still couldn’t really believe this was happening, but he couldn’t resist anything that made Bucky look that happy. 

“Yeah, okay.” 

He took the box and opened it to reveal a solid-looking ring, thick enough to leave a nasty mark if he punched someone wearing it. He pulled it out and ran his fingers over the smooth circle. Shit, Bucky actually wanted to marry him. And not just as a spur of the moment thing, he’d put enough thought into it to get an actual ring. When the hell had he done that?

Bucky had said he wanted to get married months ago while they were both drunk, and Clint had agreed and then not really thought about it since. Clearly, Bucky had.

“What metal is this?” he asked. “I mean, I know Tony would probably be able to tell you just by looking, but I’m not the tech wizard, I’m the arrow guy.”

Bucky cleared his throat. “You remember a month or two back, when that AIM cyborg thing bent some of the plates of my arm? When Tony took them off to replace them, I kept them and, uh, got a jeweller to make a ring. So, titanium alloy.”

Clint tore his eyes off the ring to stare at him. “You made me a ring out of your arm?” He looked back at it, only just realising it was the exact same shade of grey as Bucky’s arm. “Holy shit, this is the best thing ever.” He pushed the ring on his finger then held his hand up to admire it. “I’m never taking it off.”

“I hope not,” said Bucky. “The rest of our lives, yeah?”

The realisation that he was engaged, that he and Bucky were going to get _married_ , hit Clint all at once. “Holy shit,” he said, staring at the ring again, and then back at Bucky. “We’re getting married.”

“Yeah,” agreed Bucky, and he was grinning again, looking as happy and light-hearted as if he hadn’t just found out his soulmate had been lying to him about stealing a dark magic artefact.

Fuck, Clint was so lucky. He got up so he could move around Lucky and crouch down in front of Bucky. “I love you,” he said, and kissed him, pushing his hands into his hair to pull him close.

****

They didn’t end up going back to the base until the next day, even though Bucky was technically AWOL. Somehow they just kept getting distracted by other things whenever Clint half-heartedly thought that maybe they should head back over there in case Doom attacked somewhere else. It had got dark and they were curled up naked on the sofa together before he managed to put the thought into words.

“Is Steve gonna be mad you skipped out when the team is on standby?” asked Clint, running his hand through Bucky’s hair.

Bucky shrugged. “Fuck him,” he said. He was trailing one metal finger idly up and down the line of Clint’s sternum, smoothly sliding over his skin.

“I guess if you get kicked off the team, we’ve solved that argument,” said Clint.

Bucky lifted his head off Clint’s shoulder to frown at him. “I thought we _had_ solved that argument. I ain’t being apart from you, especially not if we’re getting married.”

Clint looked at him for a long moment, then gave in. “Yeah, okay, I guess we have.” He supposed it was Bucky’s decision to make, even if he didn’t think he was making the right one.

Bucky laid his head back down on Clint’s shoulder. “Good.” He rested his hand on Clint’s stomach, idly circling one finger around his belly button. Clint touched a finger to the back of his hand, feeling the shift of the plates.

“This is the hand you’ll wear a ring on,” he realised. “Is that gonna work? Will it mess with the joints?”

Bucky held his hand up and touched a finger to the base of his ring finger. “Should be okay, as long as it’s not too wide.”

“You made me a ring out of your arm and it was romantic as fuck,” said Clint. “But if I did the same it would be intensely creepy.”

Bucky snorted. “Please don’t give me a horror movie nightmare ring made out of flesh and bone, I’m not sure the PR would be great.”

“Yeah, Erika would go nuts,” agreed Clint. “Guess I’ll just have to get you a normal, boring ring then.”

“I think I’ll cope,” said Bucky. “I guess we could weld it on, stop it from getting lost.”

“Welding the ring to your finger adds a whole new level of commitment,” said Clint. “Can you imagine if we got divorced? You’d have to file it off or something.”

Bucky put his arm around Clint’s waist and gave him a squeeze. “We’re not getting a divorce,” he said. “I don’t care what happens, I’m not giving up on this.”

Clint set his arm over Bucky’s, turning towards him and tangling their legs even closer together. “Yeah, okay,” he agreed, and pressed a kiss to the top of Bucky’s head.

“And Steve can go fuck himself if he thinks I’m moving a single inch away from here right now,” added Bucky. “They can cope one night without me.”

“I was going to head back tomorrow anyway,” said Clint. “I’ll come with you in the morning. And Lucky, of course.”

“Of course,” agreed Bucky, sounding amused. “I’m guessing it’s gonna be a long time before you go anywhere without him.”

“Yeah,” agreed Clint, and kissed his hair again.

****

Steve was waiting at the landing pad when Bucky and Clint landed the next day, each of them in their own quinjet. Clint looked at his dark scowl and took his time with his post-landing checks so that Bucky had to deal with him first. He gathered his stuff and Lucky, then opened the quinjet door as quietly as he could and tried to sneak past the row Bucky and Steve were in the middle of.

“...didn’t even let us know where you were going!” Steve was saying. “And that’s not even starting on the fact that with both you and Clint using agency vehicles as easy transport, we were down two quinjets that we might have needed in an emergency!”

“If there had been an emergency, I’da needed one to come help out,” Bucky pointed out. “C’mon, Stevie, it’s not like anything happened, and I’m here now.”

“Something could have happened,” said Steve, then whirled around just as Clint thought he was going to make it around the danger zone to where he could go hide inside the base. “And you! Don’t think you’re going to be able to keep a quinjet on your farm all the time now that you’re retired.”

“Aw, come on, Cap, how else am I gonna get between here and there without spending half my life on the road?” asked Clint.

Steve shrugged. “Get Stark to build you one of those flying cars his dad was always on about, I don’t care. The point is, those are SHIELD quinjets, and we need them here.” He turned back to Bucky. “And if you’re on call, you need to be here with the team, Bucky. We need to be able to rely on you.”

“I know,” said Bucky. “Just, it was special circumstances. I had a question I needed to ask Clint.”

“And you couldn’t have just called him?” asked Steve, with exasperation.

“Not really,” said Bucky. “I figure you need to propose face to face, you know?”

Steve just stared at him, then turned to look at Clint, who held up his hand to show off his shiny new ring. “Yeah, so, we’re getting married.”

It took Steve another beat before he started grinning, turning back to Bucky to give him a back-pounding hug. “Congratulations! That’s great news!”

“Yep,” said Bucky, giving Clint a pleased smile that Clint couldn’t help returning.

Steve pulled away from Bucky and gave Clint a hug as well, squeezing tightly enough to make him suck in a strained breath. He didn’t have a sense of touch right now, but that didn’t mean an enthusiastic hug from Captain America wasn’t something of an experience.

“I’m so happy for you both,” said Steve, pulling away, then he sent them both a glare. “But, seriously, no more joyriding in the quinjets.”

“Of course not, Stevie,” said Bucky, patting at his shoulder. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Not until the honeymoon, anyway,” added Clint.

Everyone else was just as pleased for them when they got into the base and announced their engagement. Clint did catch Natasha giving him the look she used when she couldn’t understand why someone would want something they were excited about, but he ignored it with the ease of long practice. He and Natasha had long ago agreed to disagree on a lot of their life choices.

“When’s the wedding going to be?” asked Wanda. “I’m going to need some time to get a dress.”

Clint shrugged, watching Lucky wander around the main lounge, familiarising himself with the various smells. “We haven’t really talked about it. I kinda want some closure on this curse thing first.”

There was an awkward silence and Bucky gave him a pointed look. Clint sighed and slumped his shoulders. If Steve had been mad about them taking the quinjets, he was going to be even madder about Clint keeping contact with an evil sorceress secret. “Actually, can we have a meeting about it? There’s something I kinda should have told you.”

And if he was really lucky, Natasha wouldn’t skewer him when she heard about it.

****

She didn’t, but she did give a very big sigh and mutter something under her breath in Russian that made Bucky snort and nod with agreement.

“Okay, okay, we’re all aware I dealt with this in the worst possible way,” said Clint. “I mean, come on, it’s me. You coulda guessed that would happen.”

Steve let out a world-weary sigh. “I’ll call Strange and speak to him,” he said, pulling out his phone and getting up. “I’m guessing he’ll want to come and take custody of that book.”

That would be a relief. Clint really didn’t like having it around.

“We should ask him if he could put magical protections or wards or whatever around the base,” said Rhodey as Steve left the conference room to call Strange. “We’ve got a lot of tech here, but nothing that would stop an enchantress.”

“Nothing except me,” said Wanda, with a worryingly devilish smile.

“I figured we could always just try everyone shooting her at once,” said Bucky. “More fire power solves any problem.”

“You know it,” said Rhodey, and held out a fist for Bucky to bump.

“Putting aside your joint love of explosives,” said Natasha, “we do need a strategy for magic users. We should have been able to take down that dragon quicker than we did.”

“I think I did pretty well, considering,” said Clint.

“If it was Morgan Le Fay’s dragon, then you did far better than I would have expected,” said Strange, striding in with Steve on his heels. Clint blinked at him, because he still wasn’t used to people being able to just turn up in a split-second. “Is this the book?” asked Strange, bending to look at it.

“Yup,” said Clint, taking his chance to slip into the seat next to Bucky. Lucky had been settled under the table, but stood up to press his nose to Clint’s leg. “You’re welcome to it.” He stroked over Lucky’s ears, ignoring the horrible numb feeling where there should have been the sensation of soft fur. Lucky was a good boy and deserved a petting, even if Clint couldn’t feel it.

Strange pulled it out of the bag and gave it a long look, then sucked in a sharp breath. “Darkhold,” he said. “This is powerful evil. If Morgan had got hold of this, she would have done unspeakable damage.”

Clint winced and looked down at his lap. Okay, good to know, the key thing to hold on to here was that he hadn’t given it to her. He’d just come very, very close.

Bucky reached out as if to take his hand, then let it drop, clearly remembering that Clint wouldn’t be able to feel it right now. Clint concentrated on stroking Lucky and tried not to think about how much he’d like the reassurance of Bucky’s touch.

“You know her, then?” asked Sam.

“Not socially,” said Strange. “More that I know of her. She has something of a reputation.”

“Yeah, even I knew about the incest thing,” agreed Clint, and earned himself a black look that made him think that hadn’t been what Strange was talking about. He pulled his hand away from Lucky’s ears and Lucky lay down again, half on his feet.

Strange put the book back in the bag. “This will be safer in the Sanctorum. I will also look into ways to send her back when she came from.”

“And break her curse on Clint,” added Bucky with a belligerent glare.

“Of course,” said Strange. He stepped through a portal and disappeared.

“Yeah, I ain’t holding my breath,” muttered Bucky.

“He’s been doing the best he can,” said Wanda. “It’s hard to unravel another’s spell, especially when you didn’t see it cast.”

“Isn’t that what Bruce has been working on?” asked Clint. “Trying to science magic until it makes sense?”

“I don’t think he’s been having a lot of success,” said Natasha. “I don’t think it’s been making sense the way he wants it to.”

Wanda nodded, holding her hand up until it was wreathed in red light. “It doesn’t work in the way that we’re taught things should work. You have to unlearn things to get a grip on it.”

That didn’t sound like something a scientist like Bruce was ever going to get his head around. Clint mentally crossed that off as a possibility for getting rid of the curse.

“We have a more pressing matter,” said Natasha, and then gave Clint a worryingly malicious smirk as she pushed the conference phone over towards him. “Or, rather, you two do. You need to call Erika and liaise on announcing your engagement.”

A cold chill ran through Clint . He hadn’t stopped to realise that getting married to Bucky was going to involve PR and media engagement. “Oh god,” he said. “Bucky, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’ve changed my mind.”

“Nope,” said Wanda as everyone else started to get up, leaving Clint and Bucky alone with the phone. “I’ve already started looking at dresses, you’re not allowed to back down now.”

Bucky cleared his throat. “I’m gonna be kinda pissed if you change your mind just because you’re scared of the media, you know.”

That was probably fair enough, but Clint didn’t take the sulk off his face. “Just wanna get married,” he muttered.

“Yeah, me too,” said Bucky, dialing Erika’s number. “And this is one of the hoops we have to jump through. Besides, you know she’s gonna be happy about it, this is good PR, right? Better than killing a dragon.”

Erika was more than happy, she was overjoyed. Clint thought she was going to come apart with glee about the whole thing.

“First the cute photos of the dog, and now this? Clint, you’re making me very very happy, please keep it up. We have to handle this just right, suck the maximum amount of good PR from it,” she said. “We need more than just a press release to announce it, can you get Wanda to do another adorable photo on her Instagram? Or, well, one of your videos would be best, are you off injury now? We’ll need photos either way, is there a ring? I’ll need details on that, and exactly how the proposal went, people will want to know-”

Clint interrupted her with a snort. “Not sure that’s a good idea. We were having a fight and Bucky basically just yelled it at me.”

“I wasn’t yelling, I was just...forceful about putting my case forward,” said Bucky. Clint rolled his eyes at him, but he couldn’t keep in a smile. He had a worrying feeling he’d been smiling pretty much non-stop since Bucky had proposed.

“Right,” said Erika, “we’ll just say the details are private then, people will assume you were fucking. Get me photos, yeah?”

“Wanda will take some for us,” said Bucky. “She seems pretty excited about it.”

“And we’ll do a video announcement,” added Clint, and grinned at Bucky’s frown. “I’ve got an idea. We’re gonna need all our throwing knives for it. Maybe Nat’s as well.”

“Oh god,” said Bucky, but he still had a smile hovering around his lips as well. Apparently the inability to stop grinning was contagious.

****

Clint’s good mood took a hit the next morning when he woke up blind and the crashing realisation that this was how it was going to be for the rest of his life impacted. He’d been keeping it at bay with the idea that he had a way out, albeit a shitty one, but now they’d handed the book to Strange, he was trapped.

He pressed his finger against the ring on his finger, trying to take comfort in the fact that he could feel it today where he couldn’t the day before, but the crushing depression didn’t lighten much.

A hand trailed over Clint’s cheek, then his aids were nudged against his hand. He sighed, but obligingly put them in.

“Hey,” said Bucky’s voice softly from beside him, his fingers still resting on Clint’s face. “I know it’s shit, but you can’t let it get to you like that.” He pressed a kiss to Clint’s lips. “We’re gonna fix this.”

Clint snorted and rolled over on top of him to bury his face into Bucky’s neck, clinging on as tightly as he could. “I’m not sure blind optimism is the best way forward.”

Bucky’s hand stroked over his hair. “Are you gonna punch me if I make a blind joke? Cus, today it seems like blind optimism is the only kind you’re gonna be able to manage.”

Clint snorted with amusement despite himself. “Yeah, okay, I walked into that one,” he acknowledged, lifting his head and then feeling for Bucky’s face so that he could kiss him.

Bucky’s hands slid down over his back to cup his ass, and things looked like they were going to get interesting, which was when alarms started going off.

“Fuck,” muttered Clint, rolling off so that Bucky could get up. There was barking from the other room, then paws skittering over the floor. Clint sat up and held out a hand. “Hey boy, it’s okay, nothing to worry about, come here.” He found Lucky’s back and stroked over it, trying to calm him down.

“That’s the incursion alarm,” said Bucky, and Clint could hear him moving, probably grabbing weaponry. “Someone’s attacking the base.”

Something was pushed at Clint and it only took him a second to recognise it as his body armour. “I can’t fight right now,” he said.

“No,” agreed Bucky, “but there’s no way you’re sitting around blind and in your boxers if someone’s attacking. Get that on.”

“We are under attack by an unknown magical entity. Avengers assemble in the entrance lobby,” came Steve’s voice over the intercom, making Lucky bark again. “All other personnel to combat stations.”

Clint groaned as he pulled the armour on. “Aw fuck, you don’t think it’s Morgan Le Fay, do you?”

“If it is, I’m gonna take great pleasure in shooting her in the head,” said Bucky. “What weapons do you want your hands on? What can you use best without being able to see?”

Clint hesitated. None of them was the obvious answer, but he didn’t want to be left alone and weaponless while he was blind. His bow wasn’t going to work so well but he could probably send a bullet at a noise, and knives were always awesome. “Handgun, and a knife.”

There was a pause, then Bucky was tucking his hands around a gun and a couple of knives. “Stay here,” he said. “Stay safe.” 

“You too,” said Clint, and held his fist out. A moment later he felt a bump against it from Bucky, then he was gone.

Clint clicked his aids on to comms mode as the alarms stopped sounding and Lucky hopped up onto the bed, forming a warm lump by his side. Steve was giving orders in a crisp, clear voice.

“Wanda, you’re taking the lead on this one. The gatehouse said nothing they did even put a dent in her, so conventional weapons probably aren’t going to get us very far. Vision, see what you can do against that force field.”

“On my way,” said Vision. Clint felt around on the floor until he’d found a pair of sweatpants and his shoes, and pulled them on.

“Bucky, Natasha, hang back as much as you can,” said Steve. “Guns aren’t having an impact, so there’s no point in putting yourselves at risk.”

“Fuck that,” said Bucky. “If this is the bitch who cursed Clint, I’m gonna-”

“You’re going to stay back and follow orders,” said Natasha. “We don’t need another team member on medical leave. Where is Clint?”

“Wrapped up in armour and staying safe in bed with a bunch of weaponry,” said Clint, trying to sound a lot calmer than he felt. His skin itched with the need to go down and fight alongside his team, but he knew he’d only be a liability.

There was a crash and he felt his knuckles tighten on the gun. “Circle around her!” shouted Steve, then there was an explosion and the rattle of gunfire.

“Cap, let me know if you want to make this a Code Green,” said Bruce’s voice, and Clint blinked, because he hadn’t known Bruce even had a comm. He guessed it made sense, especially when it was an attack on the base. The Hulk had fought with them the last time the base had been attacked.

“I think we’re good for now,” said Steve, “but I’ll bear it in mind, thanks, Bruce.”

“Fools!” called a voice loud enough for Clint to hear it over the comms and recognise it with a sick feeling. “Your weapons cannot harm me!”

“They can distract you, though,” said Wanda, and there was another explosion, “while I do this!”

There was a crackle of magic, a whooshing sound that Clint couldn’t identify and then a pained grunt that sounded as if it came from Wanda.

Morgan laughed. “Your little magic cannot touch me, girl! Bring me my book, or I will break this place down around you!”

“Your book ain’t here!” called Bucky. “All we got for you is a shit-ton of pain!” There was another explosion, a bitten off swear word that sounded as if it came from Sam, more shots and three smaller explosions in close succession.

Clint curled up, pressing his forehead to his knees. Fuck, this was even worse than just watching a fight on a screen. At least he knew what was happening then, but trying to piece a fight together from just noises was impossible. And being so close to it, and yet so completely helpless, was even worse.

“Your archer has retrieved my book!” said Morgan. “Where is he? What has he done with it?”

“You stay the fuck away from him, lady,” said Bucky. He sounded out-of-breath, which made Clint clench his fists together. Super-soldiers didn’t get out-of-breath unless they were really pushed.

“CLINTON FRANCIS BARTON,” echoed her voice, both over the comms and through the base, louder than the tannoy Steve used to assemble them. Lucky leapt up and started barking again. “Come to me or I shall make your team suffer!”

There was another crash and Rhodey swore.

Clint snapped. He wasn’t going to cower here while she beat up his friends.

“Quiet, Lucky,” he said. “Go to your bed.”

The barking stopped and Lucky moved away, but Clint had no idea if his command had been followed or not.

He tucked one of the knives under the strap of the body armour, got up and reached out for the wall, following it around to the door. “Stay, Lucky,” he said. “Good boy, just stay nice and safe here while I sort this mess out.”

He kept a grip on the gun in one hand as he made his way through their lounge, hoping like hell that he hadn’t left anything on the floor to trip over.

He could hear the fight continuing as he headed down the corridor to the elevator. From the sound of it, it wasn’t going so well for the Avengers.

He waited until he was in the elevator, fumbling his hands over the buttons and trying to remember which one was for the lobby, before he spoke. “Heads up guys, I’m on my way down.”

“What?” said Bucky. “No, get back upstairs and stay safe.”

“Sorry, not sorry,” said Clint, tightening his grip on the gun as the elevator started moving down. “She wants to talk to me, she can damn well talk to me. Can someone meet me at the elevator?”

“I’m gonna fucking kill you,” growled Bucky.

“I’m on my way,” said Natasha.

There was a beep and the rattle of the door opening and Clint braced himself, straining his ears as if that would help him build up an image of the fight.

“We’re containing her outside for the moment,” said Natasha, taking his arm. Clint put himself in her hands and followed her out into the lobby. Walking without being able to see was disorientating, but this was his sixth day of being blind over the last month and he was starting to get the hang of just trusting there wasn’t a wall in front of him.

He heard the soft swoosh of the doors opening, followed by the cold outside air on his face, and the sounds of combat grew louder. Someone to his left was running across concrete, there was scattered gunfire from his right, and in front of him came the crackle and whoosh of magic. He heard Wanda let out a cry, and then a grunt of exertion.

“Hey!” he called. “Hey, bitch! You wanted me, here I am. Leave my friends alone.”

The sounds of the fight died away and footsteps advanced on him. Clint held his head up and hoped like hell he was at least facing the right direction.

“Clint Barton,” spat Morgan, from a few metres away.

“Hello again,” said Clint. “Any chance you’ve popped by to lift this curse thing?” Heavy boot steps came towards him and a moment later he felt a familiar hand on the small of his back. He wondered just how murderous the glare Bucky was probably giving Morgan was.

She made a derisive noise. “Any chance you have my book for me?” she asked, pointedly.

“Nope,” said Clint. “I mean, I did tell you I wasn’t going to give that to you, so I’m not sure why you’re surprised.”

“You took it from the Darkholders,” she hissed. “Don’t try to pretend you didn’t.”

“I’m not,” said Clint. “Seemed like the kinda thing that shouldn’t be left in their hands, you know? Doesn’t mean I’m going to put it in your hands.”

She made an aggravated noise. “Not even if it costs you the lives of everyone on this base?”

Clint swallowed down the terror that was threatening to rise up in his chest and concentrated on keeping his voice as calm and laid back as possible. “Well, you could try that one, I guess, but it’s not gonna get you anywhere. I can’t get the book back from where it is now. It doesn’t matter what you threaten me with.”

“Wanda, Vision, circle around behind her,” he heard Cap saying quietly over the comms. “Bruce, I think we will need a Code Green, but not until I say.”

“Understood,” said Bruce, and Clint did his best to keep his expression from changing.

“Where is it?” asked Morgan, and Clint heard her move closer.

“Clint, keep her distracted for now,” Cap said. “Bucky, Nat, as soon as I say the word, you’ll need to get him back and behind cover.”

Well, Clint could do distracting. He let a smug grin take over his face. “Nowhere you’re gonna get hold of it.” If she couldn’t breach the magical defenses that the cult had set up, there was no way she was going to get in to the Sanctum Sanctorum with Doctor Strange protecting the book.

“You can fuck with us all you like, we’re not gonna kowtow to you,” added Bucky. “We’ve faced down bigger assholes than you.”

She let out a stressed breath. “I don’t believe you have,” she said. “You will regret this defiance. I would have left your time alone and returned to mine, but now I have nothing to do other than to wreak havoc here.”

“Ma’am, if you think this is havoc, you’re going to have to try harder,” said Cap, then he shouted, “Now!” and everything got a bit confusing.

There was a crash of breaking glass and falling masonry and a bellowing roar that Clint recognised as the Hulk; magic blazed from somewhere in front of him, building up to an explosion; and there was a sharp crack that was Vision sending out one of his beams. He didn’t have time to concentrate on any of it, because arms had looped around each of his shoulders and were rapidly dragging him backwards out of range of whatever was going on.

“Hey,” he said, “careful!” He tried to get his feet under him, but they were moving too fast and he was too disorientated.

“Shut up,” growled Bucky. “Fucking moron, coming out here and confronting a sorceress when you can’t even fucking see.”

He was pulled around and then down, a hand cradling over his head to tuck it down.

“You got him?” asked Natasha.

“Yep,” said Bucky, and her footsteps scampered off towards the bellowing cries of Hulk’s rage and the zip of magic.

“Okay, I think that’s enough treating me like a kid,” said Clint, rearranging himself so he was more comfortable, but taking care to stay down behind whatever it was they’d pulled him around.

“Not like a kid, like a moron with no sense of self-preservation,” said Bucky. “Don’t go thinking you can deny that that’s exactly what you are.”

Yeah, he probably had a point. Clint just shrugged. “Describe what’s happening to me,” he said. “Are we winning?”

“The Hulk is winning,” said Bucky. “Looks like he’s immune to most of Morgan’s magic, so she’s having to skip about a bit to avoid getting smashed.”

There was a roar and the kind of crash that meant massive property damage.

“He’s really destructive,” added Bucky, sounding impressed. Clint realised that he hadn’t actually been in a fight with the Hulk before, other than when he’d been brainwashed by Hydra last year. Even then he’d been inside with Clint by the time the Hulk showed up.

“Yeah, he’s the best,” agreed Clint. There was another crash, then an angry cry and the whoosh of magic.

“Wanda’s pretty good as well,” said Bucky. “She seems to have worked out how to trap the bitch in a sort of bubble thing, which is really pissing her off.”

There was a shriek, another crash, and then a loud shout. “You will regret this! I will have my revenge!”

There was a weird popping noise, and then everything went quiet.

“And she’s gone,” said Bucky. He slapped Clint’s shoulder and stood up, and Clint followed a moment later.

“How much of a mess did she make?” asked Clint.

“Enough that Tony’s gonna yell at us,” said Bucky, taking his arm and guiding him back towards where he could hear the voices of the others. “Oh, hey, watch out.”

There was the strange sensation of something very large moving close to Clint and he held still for a moment, then reached out. “Hey, big guy,” he said, feeling the rough texture of the Hulk’s skin under his hand. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Little stick guy,” said the Hulk, and Clint felt the huff of his breath against his face. “Eyes not work?”

“Not right now, no,” said Clint, patting at him. “Thanks for your help, it sounded like you were great.”

“Hulk always great,” said the Hulk, as if Clint were an idiot for doubting it. Well, okay, maybe he was.

“Hey, big guy,” said Natasha’s voice, “do you want to come over here with me?”

The Hulk let out a grumbling noise, but Clint could feel him move away. Bucky let out a long breath that made Clint smile. “You’re not scared of the giant green rage monster, are you?”

“Nope,” said Bucky, wrapping an arm around Clint’s waist. “Not scared, just wary. I don’t have a history with him like the rest of you.”

Clint leaned into his embrace. It was kinda cold, and he was becoming aware that he was standing outside in nothing but body armour and sweatpants. He probably looked like an idiot.

Eh, wouldn’t be the first time.

****

Most of the Avengers spent the day helping the SHIELD agents clear up the mess Morgan had made, but for once the curse worked in Clint’s favour and he was excused from moving rubble about.

“I’ll just sit here, in the comfort and warmth, while you do all the heavy lifting,” he said, settling down on the couch in his and Bucky’s rooms and patting at Bucky’s arm. Lucky jumped up beside him, apparently over the scare from the alarms earlier. “I mean, I’d love to come and watch you show off your sexy super-soldier muscles, but I’m gonna have to just put _Dog Cops_ on instead, so sad, too bad.”

“I don’t understand how you haven’t run out of episodes to rewatch,” said Bucky.

“Because they’re endless perfection so you can just start again at the beginning when you reach the end,” said Clint. “Besides, Lucky needs to see them, right? Can’t have a dog who hasn’t watched _Dog Cops_.” He reached forward and started feeling around for the remote on the table. There was nothing there.

Bucky took his hand and put the remote in it. “You know, we should maybe take time the night before you’re blind to tidy up and put everything where you’ll be able to find it.”

Clint made a rude sound. “Where would be the fun in that?”

Bucky kissed him before he headed off. Clint pulled the blanket off the back of the couch once he was gone and snuggled up under it, listening to the familiar dialogue of _Dog Cops_ and drifting off to sleep for a bit.

When he woke up, he was two episodes further on, which was pretty much the only way he could tell the time. He wondered if there was a talking clock app that he could download onto his phone, then made a face at the idea of pandering to this.

Fuck, he was probably going to have to, because he’d completely destroyed any chance of persuading Morgan Le Fay to take it off now.

The thought made him want to curl up and go back to sleep, but he made himself sit up instead, dislodging Lucky and resulting in a grumbling whine. He hadn’t managed to have any coffee yet today, that would make him feel better.

He fumbled around for the remote and switched the TV off, then got up and started feeling his way out of the room and along the corridor to the main kitchen with Lucky following behind. He’d made coffee often enough that going through the motions without being able to see wasn’t much of a challenge, and when he sat down with it at the kitchen table, he was starting to feel better. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad.

Footsteps came in, hesitated in the doorway for a moment, then continued over to the coffee machine. “Is there enough for another cup?” asked Bruce’s voice, and Clint relaxed shoulders he hadn’t realised had tensed up when he hadn’t known who was in the room with him.

“Should be,” he said. “How’re you feeling? Do you get, like, a Hulk hangover? A Hulkover?”

“Not really,” said Bruce. “I feel a bit stiff sometimes, but mostly I just get really hungry.” The fridge door opened. “If I make something to eat, do you want some?”

“Fuck yeah,” said Clint. “I’m always up for food if you’re cooking.” He shrugged. “And it’s not like I can really cook for myself right now. Not that I’m ever particularly good at cooking.”

“Eggs, I think,” said Bruce, and there was the sound of things being moved around. Clint took a sip of his coffee and wondered how hard it would be to make a sandwich without being able to see. Spreading the butter would probably be the hardest bit.

Bruce cleared his throat as an egg cracked against a bowl. “So, you know I’ve been doing research on magic?”

“Yeah,” said Clint. “Trying to make it be science, right?”

“Essentially,” said Bruce. “I’m afraid it’s not going well. I can’t work out the laws that it works by, not even for Wanda’s magic which I’ve studied extensively now.”

“Ah,” said Clint, seeing where this was going and trying not to look like it was a kick in the chest. “So, you haven’t been able to work this curse out at all, then.”

“I’m sorry,” said Bruce. “I have tried, but I just can’t get anywhere with it. It’s even more frustrating than working with the super-soldier serum was.”

Clint nodded. He hadn’t really expected Bruce to be able to figure out magic using science, but it was still a disappointment. “Guess I’m staying like this for a while then. Doctor Strange didn’t seem very optimistic, and I think we can assume Morgan Le Fay isn’t having a change of heart and letting me off the hook any time soon.”

Bruce let out a sigh. “I’m sorry.”

Clint waved that way. “Not your fault, these things happen. It’s not like I didn’t know being an Avenger came with all kinds of weird risks.”

“Being cursed to lose a different sense every day is definitely not on the usual list of employment risks,” agreed Bruce.

“Neither’s accidentally ending up with a giant angry green alter ego,” Clint pointed out. “We didn’t go into normal employment. We’re far too interesting and unique for that.”

There was the clatter of crockery. “Sure, unique,” said Bruce. “That sounds like a nice way of putting it.”

A plate was set in front of Clint and he felt about to find the cutlery. “Don’t judge me too much if I make a mess,” he said, feeling the fork to make sure it was the right way up.

Bruce snorted from a seat to his left. “Good luck making a bigger mess than the one I just made of the base. The others are gonna be clearing that up all day.”

“I would argue that was Morgan Le Fay’s mess,” said Clint, managing a forkful of eggs without dropping them. “You know Steve woulda been fine if you’d not wanted to get involved, right? No one would want you to call in the other guy if you didn’t want to.”

There was a quiet pause, during which Clint heard Lucky’s claws shifting on the floor and thought it was probably a good thing he couldn’t see his begging eyes. Bucky told him it was better if they didn’t feed him from the table and he was right, of course he was right, but Clint found it very hard to stay firm when Lucky gave him that look.

“I didn’t mind,” said Bruce, eventually. “And the other guy would have been furious if I’d let him miss a fight right on the doorstep. I mean, he’s furious a lot of the time obviously, but...I can kinda feel him being content right now. He likes having a chance to get out and do something.”

“Don’t we all?” said Clint, tiredly, thinking about how useless he had been. Sure, he’d provided a distraction so that the others could gather themselves, but once the fighting had started again, all he’d done was need to be protected.

A faint pressure on his leg told him that Lucky was getting bored of being ignored and he ran a hand over his head. That was something he needed to do today, anyway. “Just let me finish eating here and I’ll take you out for a walk,” he said, and Lucky wriggled with excitement in a way that meant he recognised the W word. “I’m sure Bucky won’t mind getting out of some clearing up so that he can lead his blind boyfriend on a dog walk.”

“Blind fiancé,” Bruce corrected, and Clint couldn’t stop a smile taking over his face.

“Right. Fiancé,” he agreed. Man, he wasn’t sure he was ever going to get used to the surge of happiness that gave him.


	9. Chapter 9

The camera was focused on a metal ring that was fixed right at the centre of the bullseye on a target. It pulled back, zooming out for a long time until the target was far in the distance, then panned around to focus on Clint.

“Today we’re doing distance shooting,” he said. “I know, you’re thinking there’s no way I can even see that from here, let alone hit it, but let me remind you that I’m the greatest marksman in the world-”

“Second greatest,” interrupted a voice, and Bucky stepped into shot behind him.

Clint didn’t glance around at him. “The greatest _archery_ marksman in the world,” he corrected himself, “and greatest marksman at a bunch of other stuff, we haven’t quite worked out the full list yet.”

“I guess we’ve got time,” said Bucky. He had his hair up in a bun and was wearing a bandolier stuffed with throwing knives. He pulled one out to throw up in the air and catch one-handed. “We both know I’m the best with these, anyway.”

“We both know nothing of the sort,” said Clint, turning away from the camera to look at him. “I won last time we competed with them.”

“You cheated,” growled Bucky.

Clint raised an eyebrow. “I used all the tools available to me. It isn’t my fault you can’t hit a target while you’re being kissed. That’s not what’s going on today though, you get on with your practice and let me do my video.”

Bucky rolled his eyes but turned to throw his knife at something off-screen, hitting whatever it was with a solid thunk.

Clint looked back to the camera and grinned. “Okay, so, yes. I can’t actually see the target from here, but I know it’s right at the centre, so I’ve just got to hit that. Easy, right?”

The camera panned to the target again, and then back to Clint.

“First things first,” said Clint. “Check the wind speed and direction.” He turned back to Bucky, waited for him to throw another knife, then reached up and pulled the tie out of his hair so that the bun fell away. Bucky just let him, pulling another knife out without even glancing at Clint.

“As you can see from my favourite windvane,” said Clint, and Bucky did let out a sigh at that, sending another knife off-screen, “it’s pretty calm today, so I just need to worry about the hundred other factors.”

He pulled an arrow out of his quiver and notched it, aiming at the distance. “A shot over this distance means you have to pay more attention to gravity than you do when it’s a close one,” he said, then went quiet, focusing on his shot. Behind him, Bucky paused his throwing to watch him, something awed and possessive in his eyes.

When Clint finally let the arrow go, the camera panned to follow the shot, arching across the sky and then thudding right into the target, zooming all the way in to show it had buried itself right through the ring.

“I got it, right?” asked Clint.

“Yep,” said Sam’s voice. “Right through the ring, doesn’t even look like you touched it.”

Clint let out a wild whoop. “Fuck yeah, I’m the best!” he said, as the camera pulled away from the target and back to him. He turned to throw his arms around Bucky, but Bucky was staring at him with horror.

“Ring?” he repeated. “You didn’t- Damn it, Clint, I didn’t give you that so that you could use it for trick shots!”

He sprinted off across the field towards the target as Clint turned back to the camera. “Oops,” he said. “In my defence, who the hell knows me for longer than thirty seconds and doesn’t know I use everything for trick shots?”

“Not me,” agreed Sam from behind the camera.

“And I was never gonna hurt it,” added Clint. “I mean, come on, I’d have to miss to do that, and I never miss.”

When Bucky came back, he had something clutched in his hand and a glare on his face. “You need to take care of it,” he said, taking Clint’s left hand and pushing the ring onto his finger.

“Always,” agreed Clint, leaning in to kiss him. “I swear, no harm was gonna come to it.”

There was a moment when it appeared they’d forgotten about the camera completely while Clint cupped Bucky’s cheek and Bucky gave a tight nod, then Clint turned back to the camera with a grin.

“Oh right, and we’ve got an announcement,” he said, and grabbed the last knife out of Bucky’s bandolier and sent it flying behind them. The camera finally panned enough to show the target as the knife thudded in to form the point of a exclamation mark at the end of the sentence Bucky had been writing with his throwing knives.

_We’re getting married!_

The camera froze there for a beat, then the screen went black.

****

They filmed the announcement video in the morning, then Tony flew over with Pepper and a crate of champagne that evening. He was technically there to look over the damage from the attack and work out just how much he was going to have to spend on contractors this time, but everyone knew he was really there for a party.

“I’m guessing I don’t want to know how much a case of this costs,” said Bucky, taking a sip of the champagne.

Tony shrugged. “Not quite as much as the mess outside is going to cost. Oh, don’t get all sour-faced over numbers, I get enough Depression-era judgement from Cap. Just drink and enjoy. Here, Legolas, let me top you up.”

“There’s not a lot of point,” said Clint. “I can’t taste anything today.” Which was just typical for the day when he was being offered possibly the most expensive booze he’d ever get his hands on.

Eh, he wasn’t a huge champagne fan, he’d live.

“Okay, if I’d known that, I wouldn’t have been the dick rubbing your face in it,” said Tony. “Tell you what, we’ll leave a bottle for you in the fridge, you and your boy can have a romantic moment with it at some point.”

“You can lick it off my abs,” said Bucky, and Clint shot finger guns at him.

“Perfect plan.”

Steve sighed. “I thought we agreed you weren’t gonna give me any details of your sexlife?”

Bucky snorted. “Yeah, not a chance, not after living in your spare room and listening to you and Sam through the walls.”

Steve went faintly pink and glanced up at the ceiling as if looking for strength.

“Not our fault that the guy who built this base put in shoddy thin walls,” said Sam, raising an eyebrow at Tony that made him gape with shock, clutching at his chest.

“How? How can you say such a thing? Such ingratitude to your generous benefactor!”

Bucky tugged on Clint’s shoulder. “Want to dance?” he asked him quietly.

“Fuck yeah,” said Clint, abandoning Tony’s indignation and Steve and Sam’s amusement.

Wanda had taken charge of the music, which meant they were listening to something that had come out in the last five years so Clint didn’t recognise it. It had a beat though, and he was pretty sure he and Bucky could dance together to pretty much anything.

Bucky put his arms around Clint and pulled him in close. “Just how ridiculously all over each other do you think we can be before the others start throwing stuff at us?”

“We’re newly engaged soulmates,” said Clint. “We can milk this for at least a couple of weeks. Besides, c’mon, you know there’s no way we’ll ever be as bad as Steve and Sam. Are they linked right now?”

Bucky glanced over his shoulder at where Steve and Sam were standing. “Yep,” he said. “And they’re giving Tony exactly the same look.”

“Sickening,” said Clint, and he grinned. “Guess we’ll just have to try harder.” He pushed his hand up underneath the edge of Bucky’s shirt, quirking an eyebrow until Bucky gave him a tiny nod. He pressed his finger over Bucky’s print, letting himself feel just how gleefully happy he was right now, with Bucky in his arms.

Bucky let out a slow breath, pulling Clint closer as the emotions ran into him. “Yeah, okay,” he said and reached for Clint’s arm, pulling it away from his shoulder so that he could put his finger on Clint’s print. Love and affection flowed into Clint, along with that special sense of awe that Bucky always seemed to have, as if he still couldn’t believe that he got to have this.

Clint hated it. He wanted Bucky to get to the stage where he just took it for granted that he got everything wanted, including Clint, because he deserved it.

Actually, he deserved a lot better, like a soulmate who hadn’t been lying to him for weeks.

Clint pressed in close, breaking their connection so that he could wrap his arms around Bucky’s waist, pressing his face against his shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I can’t believe I lied to you like that. I’m such an asshole, I promise I won’t do anything like that again.”

Bucky’s arms wrapped around his shoulders and he stroked over Clint’s back and then up to ruffle his hair. “I know,” he said, quietly. “Hey, it’s okay. I love you, Clint.”

Clint shook his head, pulling back to look into his eyes. “That doesn’t mean I can’t still hurt you. It was a stupid thing to do.”

Bucky met his gaze for a long time, then a moment of hesitation crossed his face. “So why did you do it?” he asked, in a quiet voice that made Clint think he’d been sitting on the question for a while now, and hadn’t been intending to ever ask it.

Aw man, Clint really was the worst soulmate.

“Because I’m a moron,” he said. “I was going to tell you right away, on the quinjet back from Tony’s, I was all ready to, and then…” he shrugged and clutched at Bucky tighter. “I dunno. I guess I just realised that if I told you, you’d be all sensible and tell me that there was no way we should give her the book and I hadn’t decided if I was going to do it or not. As soon as I told you, that was me making the decision that I was gonna stay cursed, and I was too weak to do that.”

“Not weak,” said Bucky. “Weak is the last thing you are.”

Clint snorted. “I was seriously contemplating just doing what she wanted. I went and stole the book for her, it was only because you turned up that I didn’t hand it over.”

“No,” said Bucky, pulling back so that he could meet Clint’s eyes. “C’mon, don’t be ridiculous. There’s no way in hell you would have given it to her, whether or not I was there.”

Looking at the complete confidence in Bucky’s eyes, Clint let himself believe that. He had no idea what he might have done without Bucky, but it wasn’t as if he was ever going to have to find out.

He leaned in to kiss Bucky, brushing his hand through Bucky’s hair and vowing to himself that he’d spend the rest of his life trying his hardest to live up to Bucky’s confidence in him.

He kept it to just a close-mouthed smooch, because he hated the jolt of disconnect that came from kissing Bucky deeper only to be pulled up short by his lack of taste. Bucky didn’t push for anything more because he’d gotten used to that, just like he’d gotten used to not touching Clint on the days he couldn’t feel, and signing everything on the days he couldn’t hear. If Clint really was going to spend the rest of his life like this, at least he knew Bucky would always adjust to his boundaries without ever needing to be told.

Bucky pulled away from the kiss to rest his forehead against Clint’s, arms draped around him as they swayed to the music.

“Can’t believe I get to marry you,” he whispered, and Clint smiled because he’d just been thinking the same thing.

There was the click of a camera shutter and he glanced over to see Wanda giving her phone screen a satisfied grin. “Oh yeah, you look adorable,” she said. “I’m using that when I Instagram about your engagement.”

“I thought you were gonna use the one with Lucky?” said Clint. They’d spent a couple of hours taking couple photos, until Lucky had decided to join in. Wanda had declared her favourite photo of the set was one in which Clint was falling over backwards with Lucky leaping on top of him, while Bucky watched and laughed at them both.

“Oh, sure,” said Wanda, “but we’ve got to have the sickeningly romantic one as well, right? Erika called, by the way. They posted your video about half an hour ago and she wanted me to do my post now as a follow up.”

She turned her phone towards them to show a photo of them gazing at each other with so much affection that Clint could feel his teeth rotting from the sweetness. “Okay?”

“Sure,” said Bucky, and Clint reluctantly nodded. They were still meant to be filling the ‘adorable’ quota for the Avengers, after all.

She grinned at them and wandered off, thumbs jabbing over the phone.

Clint sighed. “I guess I was never gonna be the badass of the boyband with Natasha around, but I could have done without being the cute one. I mean, I was angling for comic relief originally.”

“Yeah, that was never going to happen,” said Bucky. “Not with Tony here.” He kissed Clint again. “Besides, who the hell else on this team is going to be the cute one? Vision?”

Clint glanced around at the rest of the team. “Wanda?” he hazarded.

“The super-powerful witch with terrifying powers?” asked Bucky sceptically, and Clint deflated.

“Okay, fine,” he grumbled.

Bucky kissed him again. “If it helps, you’re always going to be a badass to me,” he said, with the tone of voice you used for humouring small children.

“Asshole,” muttered Clint.

****

They stayed at the base for the next few days because Bucky was still on standby, but they were both itching to head out to the farm where they could just be with each other in their own private world.

“C’mon, Steve, it’s not like Doom has attacked anything in ages,” wheedled Bucky at dinner the evening Clint was blind. “Seems like he’s done with whatever his plan was, so you could totally let me and Clint head out tomorrow.”

“Lucky misses the farm,” added Clint.

Steve snorted. “Lucky’s spent less than a week at the farm. Look, I get it, but we still don’t know what Doom was planning for that drone tech he stole. Not to mention that Morgan Le Fay clearly isn’t done with threatening Clint. You’re both going to have to stay here a bit longer, I’m afraid.”

Bucky let out a loud sigh. “Fucking slave driver,” he muttered. Clint reached out and patted at his leg.

“This is what you get for having a best friend who’s all responsible and shit.”

“Oh sure, because Natasha would have let us go,” said Bucky.

“If it would stop Clint whining, I’d happily let him go wherever he wanted,” said Natasha. “Even straight to wherever Morgan Le Fay is so that she doesn’t have to travel to get her revenge.”

“Nothing like having a best friend who’s okay with you being taken out by a super-villain if it keeps you quiet,” said Sam.

Clint grinned in the direction of Natasha. “She loves me really,” he said. “I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t let anyone kill me.”

“True,” said Natasha. “I want to save that for myself.”

“No killing my soulmate before I get to marry him,” said Bucky.

“No killing anyone,” said Steve. “Avengers Rule Number One: Do not physically harm another Avenger.”

Clint considered that. He guessed it made sense that that was the first one on the list, but…”What about emotionally harming them? Or psychologically?”

“Every time I have to watch any of you couples make out on communal furniture it both emotionally and psychologically harms me,” said Rhodey. “No sense in a rule no one can keep.”

“It’s psychologically hurting me to be trapped on the base,” said Bucky. “I mean, I spent enough years as a prisoner…”

Clint really wished he could see Steve’s expression at that, because he had a feeling it was really epic.

“Seriously?” said Rhodey. “We’re making those kinds of jokes now?”

“Apparently, being able to joke about my trauma is a good sign,” said Bucky.

“I mean, you’re not wrong,” said Sam. “I don’t think Steve’s at that stage with it, yet.”

“Yeah, okay,” said Bucky. “Sorry, Stevie.”

“You’re staying on base,” said Steve, firmly, and that was that.

****

Clint and Bucky were out at the range the next day, competing to see who had the better aim with shuriken while Lucky nosed around the trees and occasionally darted off with glee at the sight of a squirrel.

Not that Clint could hear his barks but just watching his tail whip backwards and forwards with excitement was enough to make him get a little warm glow. He’d taken this guy who had been stuck in a shelter for months and given him the kind of home that meant he could go running about after small animals. Even if Clint never got to help on an Avengers mission again, at least he’d done that.

_You’re gonna lose him,_ Bucky signed at him, the third time Lucky disappeared off into the undergrowth.

“Nah,” said Clint. “Lucky! Lucky, come back!” He had no idea how loud he was pitching his voice, but it was apparently loudly enough, because Lucky came tearing back through the bushes.

Clint crouched down to pet him. “Who’s a good boy?” He pulled out a treat for him and then gave Bucky a smug look.

Bucky rolled his eyes and started to sign something else, then startled and pulled his phone out instead. _Avengers alert,_ he signed, grabbing his weapons.

Clint stood up and gathered his stuff, following Bucky up to the base. He wasn’t going to be able to go along, but he wanted to at least know what they were going up against.

The rest of the team were suiting up in the hangar, and Bucky immediately joined them. Steve was already giving the briefing. As soon as he saw Clint, he started signing along with his words. Clint rolled his eyes because he could read Steve’s lips easily enough, but deep down he felt a glow of appreciation for the accommodation.

“Morgan Le Fay is attacking Strange’s Sanctorum,” said Steve, “and she’s brought an army with her, of Doombots and dragon-shaped drones.” His hands hesitated over both ‘dragon’ and ‘drones’ and Clint made the signs for him.

“Dragon-shaped drones and Doombots,” said Sam, pulling his wings on. “Morgan and Doom are working together?”

“Apparently,” said Steve. “Doom himself hasn’t been seen yet, but the police have been concentrating on evacuating the area. Strange is doing his best to fight her off alone but he can’t be everywhere at once, and the Doombots and drones seem to be set on destroying everything they can.”

“We’ll have his back,” said Wanda, lighting her hands up with magic.

“I’ll prep the quinjet,” said Natasha. She gave Clint a brief nod before she left that Clint returned, feeling the too-familiar sick sensation at being left behind yet again. Fuck, he just wanted to be able to have his team’s backs, why the hell couldn’t she have attacked tomorrow or the day after, when he’d only be down senses he didn’t need for combat?

Bucky stopped in front of him, ready to go. “Back soon,” he said.

Clint nodded. “Got the keyring?”

Bucky nodded and tapped the pouch on his belt that he’d had added just so he could carry the lucky keyring with him on missions. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna be fine.”

“Good,” said Clint, “because I haven’t finished kicking your ass with those shurikens.”

“I was winning,” said Bucky in blatant disregard of reality and kissed Clint, probably to stop his protests, before holding his fist out.

Clint bumped it. “See you, Barnes,” he said, and then a thought struck him. “Hey, are we changing our surnames once we’re married?”

Bucky looked so startled at the idea that it was clear the thought hadn’t crossed his mind. “Uh, I don’t-” he glanced over his shoulder at where Steve was glaring at him from the quinjet entrance. “Fuck, I don’t know, ask me later.” He kissed Clint again, so swiftly it was little more than a tap of their mouths, then jogged to the quinjet. The moment he was onboard, the door closed and they took off.

Clint watched it fly out of sight, then glanced down at Lucky. “I’m thinking a sandwich and then the conference room to watch them.” Lucky gave him a tongue-lolling grin. “Yep, thought you’d agree.”

When he got to the conference room, Bruce was already there. He gave Clint a sheepish smile that Clint returned with a shrug.

“Hey, Bannertime,” said Clint. Bruce gave a very satisfying wince at that nickname, so he filed it away for future use. “Guess we’ve both got soulmates we want to watch over,” he added, pulling out a chair and slumping into it. “You know, we should get comfier seats in here, or find a way to stream it to the lounge instead.”

The quinjet had landed on a roof opposite Strange’s place. The screen was showing a constellation of different views of the battlefield, and none of them looked good. The police were still working to evacuate civilians without putting anyone at risk while Doombots and car-sized mechanical dragons spread out over the surrounding blocks, going after anything that moved.

“Are they breathing fire?” asked Clint, incredulously. Bruce just nodded tiredly.

As Clint took in the whole battlefield he realised there were more Doombots than he had ever seen in one place before, teeming around the Sanctum like ants, trying to get inside and being rebuffed by whatever magical defences Strange had put up. At the entrance of the Sanctum Sanctorum, Strange was locked in a magical battle with Morgan Le Fay that bent the air around them in strange ways that hurt Clint’s brain to look at.

Cap had clearly called out orders, because the team leapt into action, Wanda taking flight to head for the magical battle while the rest went after the bots. Clint watched as Bucky opened a full clip of bullets at the nearest dragon, with apparently no effect.

“Those things are pretty solid,” said Clint.

Bruce nodded. _They’re saying that they seem to have the same force field around them that the real dragon did,_ he signed.

“Fuck,” said Clint. “That’s going to make it hard to take them out.”

Bruce nodded unhappily.

The fight didn’t make for good viewing. Vision, War Machine and Falcon tried to keep the bots and the dragons inside a perimeter of a few blocks, but it took all their attention to do so. The others were trying to wipe out the army, but while the Doombots were fairly easy for them all to take out now that they’d had so much practice, the dragons seemed to be almost invincible. The only saving grace was that there was a lot fewer of them than there were Doombots.

Of course, that was just because there were so many Doombots that their numbers didn’t seem to be dwindling, even with broken and shattered robotics starting to litter the ground.

Clint watched Natasha leap over a car with a plume of flame barely inches from her and glanced over at Bruce, who had both his hands clenched on the edge of the table. 

“Are you gonna be okay watching this?” he asked. “I don’t want to have to deal with any green surprises right now.”

Bruce took two deep breaths and his shoulders relaxed a very tiny amount. _I’m fine,_ he signed. _I have control._

Clint wasn’t sure he believed that. He looked back at the screen to see Steve throwing himself off a building to land on the back of a passing dragon, battering at its neck with his shield while it reared up, trying to throw him off. Cap just clung on with his legs like he was riding rodeo and slammed the shield down again, and Clint saw tiny pieces of metal go flying.

“Is he actually getting through the armour?”

_Slowly,_ signed Bruce. Okay, so apparently the magical forcefield or whatever wasn’t completely proof against brute force. That was good news.

The dragon did a barrel roll and Steve had to lean forward to grab on tight, shield dangling from one hand. The moment they were level again, he let go to bring the shield crashing down at that same point again. Far more metal flew off, some of it looking like internal workings, and the dragon’s wings faltered for half a beat.

“Do you think he has an exit strategy?” asked Clint.

Bruce turned and just stared at him for a beat, then signed, _Name one time you have ever had an exit strategy when jumping off a building._

Clint shrugged. “Pretty much just always Tony. Hey, he’s not let me down yet.”

_He’s not on the team any more!_ signed Bruce with frustrated, sharp movements.

Steve hit the dragon one last time, then reached inside the hole he’d made and pulled out a bunch of wiring. The dragon gave a full body convulsion then went dead, crashing down towards the street. Steve was already moving, climbing up on its back and running for the tail, where he jumped off just in time to be caught by Sam.

“One down, only about a hundred to go,” said Clint as the dragon smashed into the street, breaking apart even further. 

He glanced around at the other cameras to see that Steve’s success was the only one they had to show for the time they’d been fighting. Bucky was backed into an alleyway by three doom bots and a dragon, firing his gun at them and clearly looking for a way out. Clint reached for his print and felt the usual angry determination that characterised his fighting mood, but there was a streak of desperation through it that Clint wasn’t used to. Apparently, it didn’t look good from his angle either.

“Fuck, fuck, I want to be helping them,” muttered Clint. Bruce nodded, then rubbed a hand over his face.

Rhodey was helping a group of police try and evacuate a building opposite the Sanctum which had taken a few hits and was starting to look a bit structurally unsound. Holding riot shields above their heads, the police waved the terrified civilians to run down a subway entrance, while Rhodey distracted the nearest dragon by shooting missiles that exploded uselessly against it.

Bucky had taken out two of the Doombots threatening him and managed to roll under the dragon out of the dead end alley he was in, but none of his weapons were working against it. Clint could see the moment he decided that if the only way they’d taken one out was by Steve just hitting until it gave up, he was going to have to get closer.

“Oh fuck, no, you idiot,” he breathed as Bucky leapt up and grabbed for the lashing tail, dangling as the dragon soared higher, trying to turn to flick him off. Bucky clung on, then pulled himself up to crawl onto the dragon’s back, gripping with his metal hand as the dragon flew in a loop.

Clint still had his finger on his print and he could feel Bucky’s utter teeth-clenching determination as he crawled forward, then slammed down his metal fist into the back of the dragon’s neck.

Sparks flew up and the dragon reared, clearly damaged but not badly enough to stop it giving a full body lurch that sent Bucky flying, crashing through the window of a building.

“Shit, shit, shit,” said Clint. He could feel pain blossom in Bucky’s mind, then be firmly clamped down on, and a moment later he came jumping back out of the window, landing on the street and firing up at the dragon with frustration. The dragon sent a plume of fire at him and he dashed behind cover. Clint could feel his pain spike at the sudden movement, although there was no sign that he was injured from his movements. Probably because he was a stubborn ass who liked to pretend he was invincible, and only let himself be injured once a fight was over.

Clint glanced around at the other screens, at Sam struggling to keep a trio of dragons from heading out of the combat zone they’d defined, at Rhodey’s suit being briefly engulfed in flame as he sought to protect the civilians, at Natasha pinned down behind a car by a whole troop of Doombots as Steve sprinted towards her, and spat out a swear word.

“They’re losing,” he said.

Bruce was gripping the table again, and Clint could see a green tinge washing across his skin.

Clint couldn’t take it any longer. He wasn’t going to just sit here and watch his friends, his _soulmate_ , get their asses handed to them. He stood up. “I’m taking a quinjet and going to help.”

Sure, being deaf was a liability, but even a deaf guy could stand on a roof and send explosive arrows at Doombots.

“You coming?” he asked, and Bruce hesitated, looking at the screen where Strange, Wanda and Morgan Le Fay were still locked in magical fight that neither side seemed to be winning.

_The other guy was immune to her magic,_ he signed, with a trapped, torn expression. Clint forced himself to just stand and wait for him to make a decision, even though his skin itched with the need to go and have Bucky’s back.

Bruce stood up. _I’ll wait in the quinjet in case I’m needed,_ he signed and Clint found a grin for him, slapping his shoulder as he went past.

“Atta boy. Meet you in the hangar, I need to grab as many explosives as I can carry.”

****

The fight was even more of a mess when they got there. The building next to the Sanctum had had the front wall blasted off and the roof was collapsing in. As Clint watched, a corner sagged further, rubble crashing to the ground and narrowly missing Steve and Natasha as they stood back-to-back, taking out the last of the Doombots that Clint had seen threatening Nat before.

Bruce put in a comms unit and then flinched. _Bucky’s not happy you’re here_.

“Tell him I said tough shit,” said Clint. “And tell Cap that I’m going to position myself on the corner of this roof and shoot anything that moves, and he’ll have to send someone to sign at me if he wants me to do anything else.”

Bruce nodded and stood back as Clint ducked out of the door and then shut it behind him. He could see a couple of news helicopters hovering around, but they were keeping far off and up high, clearly wary of the dragon drones, so hopefully they weren’t able to see too much detail.

He set himself up with a good perch and started shooting at the Doombots, which he knew he could bring down with an explosive arrow to the right part of their casing. Steve didn’t come to sign anything at him, but Bucky sprinted down the street and stopped just in front of the building.

_If you get hurt I’m going to kill you,_ he signed up with wide movements, clear enough for Clint to see several storeys up.

Clint rolled his eyes to himself and moved closer to the edge to respond.

_Of the two of us, who is currently pretending not to be aching from injuries?_

_That’s minor,_ Bucky signed back, then glanced away, seeing a dragon coming towards him.

He ran at it, leaping onto a car and then swinging himself up a street light to gain height and jump onto the dragon, narrowly missing a burst of fire. Clint put the explosive arrow he had notched back into his quiver because if Rhodey’s missiles weren’t having an impact, those wouldn’t either. Instead, he pulled out an EMP arrow and sent it soaring to bury into the red light of one of the dragon’s eyes. He detonated it just as it hit and there was a flash, but when it cleared the dragon was still moving and the arrow had uselessly clattered off to fall to the ground.

So much for that vague hope.

He had at least managed to distract the dragon while Bucky got on top of it, getting into a position where he could smash at the vulnerable joints of its neck. Clint kept an eye on him as he fell into the familiar rhythm of sending arrow after arrow at any of the Doombots close enough to hit.

It took Bucky several hard hits with his metal hand, but he made it through to the sensitive machinery, ripping through the workings as the dragon shuddered and then went still, starting to crash down.

Bucky waited until it was metres away from hitting the street before he jumped off, rolling clear of the crash as shattered pieces of drone fell around him.

But sure, Clint was the one who they had to worry about getting injured. Asshole.

He was distracted from watching Bucky by a movement from a nearby building, and he realised there were people moving behind the windows.

Shit, hadn’t the police managed to evacuate everyone? He glanced over at the police cordon and realised how much restrained panic was going on down there. Their guns weren’t effective against the dragons and would only have worked against the Doombots if they’d hit a very specific place on their armour, which they probably didn’t even know to aim for. They were completely pinned down, and clearly knew that there were still civilians within the zone, cowering inside buildings and hoping like hell that nothing came blasting through the walls.

The building Clint could see people in had taken heavy fire and had at least one hole blasted in it. The dragon Bucky had just taken out had crashed into the front of it, smashing through a window, and the movement was the people rushing out of that room, clearly trying to find somewhere more sheltered. He scanned his eyes across the building and spotted a large group clustering in the lobby. A couple of guys were moving furniture in front of the door, but that wasn’t going to do much.

Shit, shit. He glanced at where Bucky was stalking after another dragon, yelling something at Steve and Natasha, and then over at the figures of Strange, Wanda and Morgan Le Fay mostly obscured by glowing explosions on the steps of the Sanctum. Vision, Falcon and War Machine were still trying to hold back the dragons and he saw Vision, soaring down to land on the back of one, phasing his hand inside its neck and then solidifying enough to pull out wiring. The dragon crashed down into the roof of a building, going straight through and sending up a cloud of dust as Vision soared away. Another dragon was already targeting him, sending a blast of fire that engulfed the building. Clint saw something on the roof catch alight, smoke billowing up even after Vision and the dragon’s fight had moved away.

Being inside a building was barely safer than being on the street at this point. As much as Clint wanted to stay where he was, watching Bucky’s back, he was needed elsewhere.

He ran back to the quinjet, ducking inside to see Bruce watching from the cockpit and looking just as stressed as he had been at the base.

“We need to get down to the street,” said Clint, jumping into the pilot’s seat. “Brace yourself, this is going to be quick and dirty.”

He took off without waiting for anything further, concentrating on flying down onto the street without hitting any Doombots, dragons or Avengers. There was a space just big enough for the quinjet about a hundred feet from the door of the building, which was further than Clint wanted, but the fight had left rubble and bits of Doombot scattered everywhere and he couldn’t get any closer.

He turned to look at Bruce. _There are civilians trapped in there,_ he signed, gesturing back at the building. _I’m going to get them out, and the easiest way is to load them on here._

_Which means they’ll see me,_ signed Bruce. He made a face, but nodded. _If it’s what it takes._

Clint grinned at him, patting his shoulder. _I don’t know how many there are,_ he said, standing up, _hopefully few enough to fit on here, but if not we’ll have to do two trips._

Bruce got up as well, heading for the weapons locker. _I’ll cover you from the door,_ he signed, then pulled out an assault rifle.

Clint waited for him to check it was loaded, then opened the door, bow in hand with an arrow notched, and dashed out.

There were three Doombots already advancing on the door of the building, so Clint sent his arrow into the middle of them, exploding it and sending them tumbling away. Two of them got back up, but he already had an EMP arrow notched, sprinting across to the door as he shot it and hitting the closest bot, sending it slumping to the ground.

The range on his EMP arrows needed tweaking or Doom had got better at shielding his bots, because the third one kept coming. Clint paused in front of the door of the building and snapped his bow into quarterstaff mode, ducking under a shower of bullets and then smashing hard at its head, knocking its cloak hood down, and then hit it again, forcing it back just far enough for him to grab an arrow from his quiver and drive it right into its delicate electronics. There was a spark and the thing collapsed.

He took a moment to breath and scan the area for more danger, then turned back to the doors.

The civilians were all huddled at the back of the lobby, sheltered as much as they could be by the stairs. They’d put a sofa and a couple of tables in front of the door and he couldn’t get it open, so he was forced to knock.

No one moved for a long moment, then a woman pulled herself away and came to the door, moving a table so that she could open the door a crack.

“Um. Hello?” she said.

Clint gave her his best facing-the-public grin. “Hi, I’m an Avenger, I’m here to evacuate you.”

She glanced over his shoulder at whatever was happening out there and her face went pale. “I think we’re fine in here.”

“Yeah, you’re really not,” said Clint. “This kind of fight just trashes buildings. C’mon, we’re just going to load you up on a quinjet and fly you to safety, it’s going to be totally easy. How many of you are there?”

She shrugged and glanced back over her shoulder, so Clint missed whatever she said.

“Sorry, you’ll need to look at me when you’re talking,” he said. “My aids are busted so I’m on lipreading.”

For some reason, that was what made her eyes widened with shock and she blinked at him before saying, “Uh, I just said that I think there’s about twenty of us.”

“Okay, we can just about fit you all in one one trip then, as long as you don’t mind getting close.” He looked back around at the street and saw that more Doombots were closing in. “Get everyone ready, but no one comes out until I say go, okay?” he said, then turned to deal with the incoming threats without waiting for a response.

There were five Doombots closing in, and -shit- one of the dragons was heading his way as well. This was the point where he would usually ask over the comms if anyone else was near enough to help out, but today he was just going to have to handle them himself.

A shower of bullets hit the Doombot nearest to the quinjet and Clint grinned to himself. Right, not alone, he’d got Bruce watching his back.

He sent arrows at the two nearest Doombots, bringing them crashing down, then darted away from the door, making sure the dragon saw him and followed his course.

“I’ll distract them, you get the civilians all on board,” he shouted at Bruce, ducking down behind a car as a Doombot started shooting back. He waited a beat, then rose and took it out with an arrow, glancing over at the quinjet to make sure Bruce had heard him.

Bruce was hovering in the doorway, looking up at the nearest news helicopter. Shit, this would break his cover and put an end to the charade that he was still off in another country and none of the Avengers had heard from him in a couple of years.

It had been years since the last time the Hulk had caused a disaster though, and if Bruce really could keep control, it would go a long way to making people trust him again.

But that wasn’t Clint’s decision to make. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it, stay where you are,” he called.

Bruce looked back from the helicopter at him, then up at the dragon that was getting really close now and which Clint should probably do something about soon, and shook his head.

A moment later he was sprinting across the street to the door of the building. Clint focused his attention on the dragon, running further back up the street, leading it away from Bruce and the civilians.

“Come on, you fucker,” he shouted at it, and then sped up his steps as fire rushed out of its mouth. Fuck, fuck, fuck, just how fireproof was his suit again?

He made it behind another car without getting flame-grilled and ducked down. Okay, what was the plan?

The others had taken dragons out by going for their necks with brute force. Clint’s EMP arrow hadn’t worked, but maybe if he got the explosive one in at just the right point, where the neck plates were vulnerable, he could blow it apart.

He ducked his head up above the car and then crouched back down in a hurry. The dragon was only feet away and sent out a stream of flame as soon as it caught Clint’s movement. Shit, he wasn’t going to be able to hit the back of the thing’s neck from this angle.

He notched an arrow, took a deep breath, and sprinted as fast as he could across the road, ducking around another car but kept moving in a loop, doing his damndest to move faster than the drone could turn. He sent the arrow flying as soon as he had his shot, but didn’t stop moving, continuing to sprint back down the street towards the stream of civilians he could see Bruce ushering towards the quinjet.

The arrow exploded and the dragon reared up, and Clint could see some damage, but it wasn’t enough. The dragon slowed but didn’t stop, and it sent more flames after him. Fuck, fuck, he needed to be able to run faster than this.

And he was leading it back towards the civilians. “Move faster!” he shouted, and they all started running towards the quinjet. Bruce turned towards him and raised his gun, but Clint could see that he knew that was futile. Something distracted his attention inside the building and he hesitated for a second, then glanced back at Clint.

_Hold it just a bit longer,_ he signed, and then dashed inside the building.

What? Oh, fuck no, that was a dick move in anyone’s book. Clint glanced back at the dragon, then at how close they were to the civilians, who were at least all on the quinjet now, although he wasn’t sure hanging out the door to watch him was a good idea.

He stopped running towards them in favour of reversing direction and dashing back towards the dragon, which surprised the crap out of it, as much as you could surprise a military drone disguised as a mythical beast. He shot another couple of arrows, hoping to distract it while he tried to come up with a plan.

They clattered uselessly off the dragon’s armour as it reared up to try and aim more flame at him, then clearly realised the angle wasn’t going to work. It was definitely moving slower than it had before, so slow that Clint was able to get under it before it could turn. He wheeled around and sent another explosive arrow at its neck, aiming for the exact same spot he hit with the last one and nailing it exactly.

The arrow exploded, the dragon reared again as mechanics went flying, but it didn’t crash out. Instead, it looked like it was having some kind of malfunction. It sent out a spurt of flame, drooped one wing and flapped lamely, then powered forward on its side, like a dying goldfish.

It was heading straight for the building that Bruce had just gone inside. Shit, shit, not what Clint had intended. He grabbed another arrow but its wing was in the way and he couldn’t get a shot before the thing powered itself into the building, smashing through brick and mortar at first floor height.

The whole building shuddered and slumped, then Clint watched with horror as it caved in completely, crashing down right over where Bruce must have been.

“Oh fuck,” he breathed. Oh fuck, he’d just crushed Natasha’s soulmate.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away as the wreckage of the building settled, not even to look around and see if any of the rest of the team had seen what had happened.

Then there was a shift in the wreckage, brick and rubble falling away as a huge shape pulled itself out of the ruin.

“Fuck yes,” said Clint, and started running towards it again. “Oh man, Hulk, I am so fucking glad to see you,” he babbled as the Hulk shook off the last of the building and turned around. He had one arm wrapped around his chest and Clint realised he was cradling a tiny fluffy dog. Well, maybe it wasn’t that tiny, but it definitely looked it next to the Hulk.

Hulk glanced around, taking in the battle around him, then looked down at the dog. He strode out of the wreckage of the building.

“You have fight without Hulk?” he asked, looking actually hurt. He wasn’t the easiest guy to lipread because his jaw wasn’t quite like a human’s, but the fact that he always used short words helped.

“Sorry, big guy,” said Clint. “I think Bruce was hoping we wouldn’t need you, and we were trying to get the civilians away.”

“Banner,” muttered the Hulk darkly. The dog in his arm squirmed and barked and he glanced down at it with a frown.

“Want me to take that for you?” asked Clint. “Give you a chance to go smash?”

The Hulk raised one large hand and Clint winced, hoping like hell the TV crews still circling weren’t about to get a shot of him crushing its skull.

Instead, he stroked one finger gently over its fur. “Soft,” he said.

“Yep,” agreed Clint. He glanced around to make sure nothing bad was heading towards them. “We were going to put it on the jet and take it to safety.”

The Hulk looked over at the quinjet and nodded, then marched over there, still stroking the dog. Clint jogged after him, giving the terrified civilians what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

The Hulk crouched down by the door as they all backed away and held the dog out on one palm. “Dog,” he growled.

A man who looked as if he were close to wetting himself rushed forward and gathered the dog up in his arms, then darted back inside.

The Hulk stood up and looked at Clint. “I go smash now.”

Clint nodded and gave him double thumbs up. “Have fun.”

“Smashing always fun,” said the Hulk and took off with one incredible bound, heading for the nearest dragon drone.

Clint let out a long breath of relief and hurried onto the quinjet.

“Okay, everyone doing good?” he asked, glancing around. “Awesome, let’s just get the fuck out of here, shall we?”


	10. Chapter 10

Clint flew the civilians a few blocks over to where the police had set up some kind of command centre and let them off.

“Thank you,” said the woman who had opened the door to the building to him, looking emotional as she got off.

Clint gave her an awkward nod because he wasn’t very good with gratitude and besides, Morgan Le Fay wouldn’t be attacking if Clint hadn’t stolen that damn book for her and then given it to Strange without thinking twice about what might happen next.

He flew back to the centre of the fight and set the jet down on a roof, then found a position he could shoot from. He glanced around, taking in everyone’s positions. Cap had regrouped them all by the Sanctum and he could see a couple more downed dragons around them, but there were still an unbelievable amount of Doombots closing in on them.

Wanda and Strange’s fight with Morgan was largely obscured by billowing clouds and sharp flashes of various magics, but it didn’t look like either side was making any headway. As he watched, the Hulk bounded at Morgan, clearly hoping he’d be able to smash her as easily as he had at the Avengers base. Instead, he bounced off some kind of invisible force field that surrounded the fight. He let out a roar and thumped at it without any effect, then turned to jump at a Doombot instead.

Okay, so apparently Morgan Le Fay was that rare villain who actually learnt from their past defeats. That was annoying.

Clint found himself a perch at the top of a fire escape and sent a few arrows at the Doombots closest to Bucky, then gave him a cheery wave when Bucky’s head whipped around to stare at him. Bucky responded with a single-fingered salute, which made Clint snigger.

A couple of blocks away, he could see the Hulk had decided to smash a dragon if he couldn’t get at Morgan. He took it out by pure brute force, roaring as it engulfed him in flame and then pulling off one of its wings and sending it smashing into another building. Fuck, this whole neighbourhood was going to need to be rebuilt.

Clint sent an arrow right at the Doombot Bucky was about to take out, because that was a joke that never got old. Bucky glanced over to flip him off again, then froze in place, dropping all his defences to sign _Behind you!_ with large, jerky movements.

Clint whirled around, notching an arrow as he moved and sending it flying at the Doombot that had crept up behind him.

The Doombot whipped out a hand and caught the arrow, tossing it to one side. Shit, that was a bit more advanced than most of these guys. Clint grabbed another arrow and drew back to shoot, then hesitated. The Doombot wasn’t attacking, why wasn’t it attacking? All it was doing was- ah. Moving its arms as if it were talking.

Oh shit, this wasn’t a Doombot, it was actually Doom himself.

“If you’re monologuing, you’re gonna have to go find another Avenger to listen,” he said. “The curse that the bitch you’re palling around with put on me is fucking with my hearing today.”

Doom didn’t go anywhere. He stood up taller and made a dramatic gesture with his arms and, wow, the guy was still talking. Wasn’t he meant to be a genius?

“Seriously, ASL, or take your mask off so I can lipread, or find someone else,” said Clint.

There was a movement to his left and he flinched, expecting an attack while his attention had been distracted, but it was Bucky. He had his gun up and a furious look in his eyes as he circled around next to Clint.

Clint couldn’t read his lips from the angle he was at but it was pretty clear Bucky and Doom were having some kind of conversation, so he just kept his bow up and his arrow ready to fly, and hoped someone would fill him in later.

Bucky took a step closer to Doom, who did some kind of fancy flourish with his cloak that he must have practiced in the mirror, then Bucky’s shoulders slumped and he turned his head to look straight at Clint.

“He wants me to play interpreter for you,” he said. “He claims he wants to take out Morgan Le Fay as much as we do.”

Clint raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “You mean, the Morgan Le Fay that he lent all his Doombots to?”

Doom reacted strongly to that, stepping forward and jabbing at the sky with one finger. Clint drew back his bowstring a bit further and Bucky brought his gun up, finger twitching on the trigger.

Doom let out a breath so deep that Clint could see his chest move, then stepped back again, holding his hands up defensively. Whatever he said made Bucky lower his gun and then look back at Clint.

“I think we should be hearing him out.”

“Fuck,” said Clint, then relaxed his bow, keeping the arrow notched as he lowered it. “Fine, okay, translate for him.” He glared at Doom. “This better be good, though.”

Bucky slung his gun over his shoulder and started signing.

_You dare doubt Doom? Every word Doom says carries more weight than a mere peasant like you could understand!_ Bucky rolled his eyes dramatically.

God, Clint really hated this guy’s melodrama. “Can we skip the bullshit and get to the point? If you’re not working with Morgan Le Fay, how come she has your bots?”

_She stole them from Doom! She came forward in time to glorious Latveria and Doom agreed to help her. She wished for modern alternatives to her dragon, as she had only one and needed more to conquer and subdue the land that is rightfully hers._

“Okay,” said Clint. “So you got your bots to steal that drone tech and built her those dragon drone things. What about the book, did you know about that?”

Doom shook his head as Bucky continued to sign his words. _Doom was cruelly betrayed! She said no word of this book, or her plan involving you. When she said she had attacked the Avengers base and failed, and asked for aid in attacking Doctor Strange, Doom refused. You people are ignorant thugs, and Doom knew you would take such an attack as an excuse to target beautiful Latveria. Doom said he would give her the military might she had asked for, and then she would need to go back home. Instead, the traitorous bitch took all Doom’s bots and came here._

“Man, that sucks,” said Clint. “Not seeing why you need to talk to me though, surely you just need to grab your bots and take them home? Well, the ones that are left standing, anyway.”

Doom actually shook a fist at the sky. _She has betrayed Doom, and must be punished! We will send her back to her time with nothing, not Doom’s bots, not the dragons, and not the book._

Clint looked at Bucky and raised an eyebrow and got a shoulder twitch in response. _Is Cap listening to this over the coms?_ he signed at him.

_Yeah,_ Bucky signed back. _He says to keep humouring him, see what we can get. Wanda and Strange aren’t having any luck defeating her magic and we need something to break the deadlock._

Clint nodded and looked at Doom. “Okay, so, how do we send her back? Because I’m not usually the Avenger people go to when they need help with magic.”

_Doom needs no assistance!_ signed Bucky, rolling his eyes again. Clint had to feel for him, Doom wasn’t the easiest guy to translate with a straight face. _Doom is a master of the mystical arts!_

“Okay, so go take her out then,” said Clint, gesturing at the billowing red fire of the magical battle. “I promise no Avengers will try and stop you.”

_It is not so simple, ignoramus,_ signed Bucky. He had to finger spell the last word, which was fair. Clint wasn’t actually sure what the sign was for that one himself. _The spell Morgan Le Fay used to send herself here is still open, giving her a path home that she can trigger at any time, but it is her spell. Only her magic can trigger it and send her back. Doom’s magic would not work on it, and neither would the Sorcerer Supreme’s, or your little witch’s. We need some of her magic to do so._

Clint thought of the shock that the Darkholders’ protection spell had given him. “The curse,” he realised. “I have some of her magic wrapped around me. You want to use that.”

_No,_ signed Bucky sharply, and it took Clint a moment to realise he wasn’t translating for Doom any more. _No way, you’re not letting this fucker get anywhere near you._

Clint glared at him. _My choice, Bucky._

“What would that mean?” he asked Doom. “Would siphoning off her magic take off the curse?” He tried to keep his voice steady, but he couldn’t prevent a note of anxious hope.

Doom shrugged. Bucky scowled at him and only signed when Clint sent him a pointed glare. _He says he has no idea what effect it might have on you. It might remove the curse entirely, it might have no effect, or it might trigger it to strip you of all your senses for good. Which is exactly why you shouldn’t do it. What if it makes things worse?_

Clint took a deep breath. The idea of being left trapped like he had been at the very beginning of the curse, shut off from every sense that informed him about the world around him, was terrifying. But then, what if this did lift the curse instead? No, fuck it, he couldn’t decide based on that, not when they didn’t know which way it would go. He had to look at this solely as a way to get rid of Morgan, not as a potential cure.

_Then we’ll at least have got rid of a dangerous villain and foiled her evil plans, which is pretty much the whole point of being an Avenger,_ he signed. _What do the others think?_

Bucky sighed. “Clint wants opinions,” he said, pressing a hand to his earpiece.

In the pause, Clint looked back at Doom. “You’re completely confident this will work, and not just create an even bigger magical mess?”

Doom nodded, but Clint didn’t have the first clue on whether or not they could trust him on this. Doom was usually pretty upfront, though. He didn’t play mind games like this when he could give a dramatic speech detailing his grievances instead.

Bucky looked back at Clint, dropping his hand from his ear. _Cap says it’s up to you, but he doesn’t think there are any other options. Wanda says that, from a magic point of view, what he’s saying doesn’t sound like complete bullshit. Nat doesn’t like it because she doesn’t trust Doom, she wants someone else magical to supervise. Sam agrees._

Clint nodded. _I think I’m gonna do it._

Bucky looked incredible unhappy and he turned to glare at Doom, but when he looked back, he was resigned. _Yeah, I know._

_You’d do it too,_ Clint pointed out.

Bucky screwed his face up and muttered, “Why does everyone on the team have to be a self-sacrificing asshole?” clearly enough for Clint to read his lips. Well, that wasn’t a denial.

Doom stepped forward and Clint’s hands twitched on his bow, but he resolutely kept it lowered.

“Yeah, we’re doing it,” Bucky said to him. “You even think about harming him though, and I’m going to take you out. It’ll be fucking painful, trust me.”

_Can you ask if Wanda can leave Strange with Morgan for now and come up here?_ signed Clint before Bucky got caught up in one of his more elaborate threats.

He glanced back over at the fight to see a handful of dragons had closed in on the group. Even with the Hulk smashing at them, they were struggling to stand against them.

“And you’re sure you didn’t put any killswitches in the drones at all?” he asked, looking back at Doom.

_Doom did not foresee this betrayal,_ Bucky signed for him. _However, once Morgan is no longer present, the programming for both dragons and Doombots should default back to their natural master, Victor von Doom._ Bucky hesitated, then added, _I feel like an idiot just translating the way this guy speaks, how does he not get how ridiculous he sounds?_

Clint stifled a snigger as Wanda landed on the roof beside him in a blaze of red magic. “What do you intend?” she asked Doom.

Clint didn’t bother paying attention, because it wasn’t like he’d understand any of the magic chat even if he had been able to do more than lipread one half of the conversation. Instead, he looked at Bucky and jerked his head at him.

Bucky glanced at Doom with suspicion one last time before coming over. “If you really don’t want me doing this,” said Clint quietly, because he’d made enough stupid decisions without listening to Bucky’s input already.

Bucky shook his head. “No,” he said and signed at the same time. “No, this is up to you.” He hesitated. “And you’re probably right to do it,” he added, reluctantly. “I just hate the risk you’ll be running.”

Clint managed a weak smile for him. “We don’t exactly have risk-free lives,” he said, and leaned in to kiss Bucky, leaning their foreheads together. “I love you,” he said. “No matter what happens, I’ll always love you.”

Bucky had to pull away to say and sign it back, and then added, “But that doesn’t mean we’re gonna have some maudlin goodbye scene right now. You’re gonna come out of this and we’re gonna get married and I refuse to accept any other outcome.”

“Yeah, okay,” said Clint, and kissed him again. “I do kinda want to marry you.”

“Only kinda?” asked Bucky.

“I’m not looking forward to Erika deciding what PR we need to do for it.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “We do get to say no if it’s too much, you know.”

Clint just laughed, because there was no way in hell either of them were brave enough to say no to Erika.

They were interrupted by Wanda before Bucky could do more than scowl at that reaction. _I think he’s legit,_ she signed. _And he’s right, we’re not going to beat Morgan any other way._

Clint let out a sigh and rubbed at the back of his head. “Okay, let’s do this thing, then. Where do you want me?”

****

They went back down to street level, where Bucky rejoined the fight and Clint, Wanda and Doom settled in the centre of the Avengers, where they would be protected from the attacking bots while they concentrated on the magic.

“Do I need to do anything?” Clint asked, and Wanda shook her head.

_Doom and I are going to do this together, which will make it easier for me to tell if he’s double-crossing us. Just hold still and keep calm._

“Calm,” repeated Clint sceptically. “Right. Sounds easy.”

She gave him a rueful smile, then joined hands with Doom. Red fire leapt out from her, followed by a green light from Doom, and Clint spared one last glance towards Bucky before they both wrapped around him.

_It’s like Christmas,_ he thought, maybe a little hysterically, as the red and green magic swirled around him, sealing him up in a cocoon.

At first it just felt like being bathed in warm water, but then it pressed in closer and closer, sliding over him like sandpaper, scraping over every inch of skin, over his tongue and the insides of his nostrils, the inner canal of his ears and, most excruciatingly, across his eyeballs. He screwed his eyes shut but it didn’t make a difference as the magic pressed in tighter, making every sense burn.

Fuck, no one had said this was gonna hurt.

He knew he was grunting with pain but he hoped it was in a manly, stoic way, because he had a reputation to maintain, damnit.

That all went to hell in the next moment, when there was a sucking sensation and the magic started ripping something away from him, like it was peeling his skin from his flesh. He started screaming then, falling to his knees. He opened his eyes briefly but the swirl of multi-coloured magic was too bright and taking up the whole world so he squeezed them shut again.

It was excruciatingly painful and it seemed to go on forever, the magic ripping the curse out of his flesh with burning intensity. He was still screaming as it built up in all the places that the curse had gathered and then, abruptly, it was gone.

He fell forward as the force of magic left him, curling up on the ground and trying to catch his breath. Fuck, oh fuck, why the hell had he thought that was a good idea? He hated fucking magic.

There was a firm weight on his back and he was carefully rolled over. He opened his eyes, expecting to see Bucky’s face, but there was nothing.

The bottom dropped out of his stomach. “Fuck,” he muttered, but he didn’t hear it. Of course not, he hadn’t been hearing anything today and he still didn’t have any aids in.

Except he also couldn’t feel the rough texture of the tarmac beneath him, or smell the dust and smoke of the battle, or sense anything at all.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” he let himself babble, reaching out and hitting a solid block that he clung to. “Bucky, Bucky, that better be you, I’m freaking out. It’s all gone again.”

He was pulled upright and his bracer was pulled off, and a moment later he could feel the flow of Bucky’s love as a finger pressed his print.

“This is the _worst_ ,” said Clint, and fell into him, clinging on and doing his damndest not to start just bawling like a kid. “Please tell me we at least blasted that bitch back where she came from. When she came from, whatever.”

“She’s gone,” said Wanda’s voice in his head. “Doom has regained control of his Doombots and the dragons, and is now arguing with Steve about whether or not he’s going to be able to just take them back to Latveria or if we’re going to decommission them.”

Clint took a deep breath, pulling himself back together. “Okay, so, mostly a happy ending then.” A happy ending for everyone except him, and probably Bucky, who was now stuck with a completely helpless soulmate.

“I’m so sorry, Clint, I didn’t know this would happen,” said Wanda.

Clint shook his head against the solid shape of Bucky, wishing he could feel the rub of his tactical gear against his cheek. The flow of his love through the link was heavily tainted with sorrow. “Not your fault.”

“Bucky wants to get you into the quinjet,” said Wanda. “He wants to carry you, he’s asking you not to struggle.”

Clint let out a sigh and waved a vague hand. “Go for it, Bucky. Practice for our wedding night, right? Or maybe you do it this time and I’ll do it then.”

Except he’d probably put his back out trying to lift Bucky, with all his muscle and his metal arm, and also he wouldn’t be able to see, so he’d just walk him into the doorpost and shit, this was it, he was going to be blind for the rest of his life, blind and deaf and locked up unable to even _feel_ , fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Quicker is probably better,” he managed to get out. “I think I’m about to start properly freaking out.”

Bucky pulled away from his print, leaving him with no external input at all, and he took a deep breath, then tried not to make any embarrassing noises as he was swept up into the air. He just collapsed against Bucky, pressing his face to hide it against him and held on as tightly as he could.

By the time he was set down again, he could feel himself hyperventilating. Bucky started to move away and he clutched at him. “Don’t go,” he said. “I can’t- I need to know you’re here.”

Immediately, he was wrapped up again. He pressed his face into Bucky and tried to take deep breaths, but he couldn’t manage it. His chest felt like it was caught in a vice at the crushing realisation that this was it now, he was going to to be shut in the dark and silence for the rest of his life, because the only person who knew anything about it had just been sent back to the Dark Ages. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he was never going to use his bow again, never going to hear Bucky laugh, never going to taste coffee or pizza, never spar with Natasha, never feel Lucky’s fur under his hands. Fuck. Never do anything worth doing.

Everything in his mind narrowed down to a black tunnel. He couldn’t breath, trying to suck in air through strangled lungs.

Bucky’s finger pressed at his print and a flow of love and reassurance opened up in his mind, but he could feel the worry and the hurt on his behalf underneath as well, and all he could think about was how this was going to fuck up Bucky’s life as well. After everything, surely Bucky deserved better than a soulmate who was trapped inside a body with no senses?

Clint’s head was starting to pound and his lungs felt like they were shrinking and tears were squeezing out of his eyes, and-

“Clint, Clint. You need to calm down,” said Wanda’s voice. “Take slower breaths, can you do that for me? Slow and steady.”

Clint did his best, concentrating on her voice and trying to press down on the panic, forcing himself to only pay attention to his breathing.

“That’s good, just like that,” said Wanda. “You’re okay, Clint. Bucky’s right here with you and so am I.”

It took Clint longer than he wanted to admit to get control of himself. “Fuck,” he muttered once he was able to breathe properly. “Sorry, that was kinda pathetic.”

“It wasn’t, it was completely understandable,” said Wanda. “I’m so sorry, Clint, I had no idea this would happen.”

“How could you?” asked Clint. “It’s not like anyone really understands this curse at all, other than Morgan Le Fucking Fay, and it’s not like she was going to explain how her magic works, or just have a change of-”

“Oh,” said Wanda, very quietly, interrupting him in his own head, which felt a bit mean. “Oh, wait, hang on.”

An electric shiver of magic ran through his body and he shuddered, reaching out to clamp a hand around Bucky’s wrist where he was still linked with Clint’s print.

“Wait here,” said Wanda, and then her voice was gone from his mind.

“Not sure where she thinks I’m going to go,” Clint said, squeezing at Bucky’s wrist. Whatever was going on had changed the feelings that were coming through the link from him, adding in a very thin tendril of tentative hope. Clint tried not to let himself latch onto that, because he’d had enough of his hopes being crushed for a bit.

Bucky shifted away from him, although he stayed close enough to be pressed against Clint’s side. He pushed a large wave of love through, then let go of Clint’s print, cutting off the flow of emotion. Clint took a deep breath as his world narrowed back down to only what was in his head.

Something was pushed into his hand, something hard and rectangular. Clint closed his hand around it automatically, just as the tingle of magic passed through him again, strengthening to an unpleasant buzz that he had to grit his teeth against.

“I’m guessing there’s a purpose to this,” he said, but there was no response. The buzzing continued to build to a vibration, then there came a horribly weird sensation, as if something was being carefully pulled out of his soul. It was something between what it must feel like to be a ball of wool being unrolled and the relief of finally getting something that’s been caught between your teeth out after it’s been trapped there for a while, except in his mind.

It was excruciating, mostly because of how deep inside him it felt, in parts of himself that no one else had ever touched, not even Bucky through their link. He clenched harder at whatever he’d been given to hold, squeezing his eyes shut as if that would make any difference, and endured.

Fuck, he hoped this meant Wanda had worked out how to get the curse off him and not just that something else horrible was happening to him.

The thread of magic tugged itself out from his skin, winding back and forth, and then pulled through his nose, out of his throat, from the very depths of his ears, which felt like nails on a chalkboard and then, finally, dragging out of his eyeballs.

Just as he was thinking that this was the most unpleasant sensation he’d ever experienced, the thread caught on something deep inside him, and there was a twang as it resisted being pulled out. He wasn’t sure what the noise he made sounded like, but it felt like he’d swallowed his tongue.

There was a slightly harder tug, then a pause. Clint concentrated on keeping his breathing even and not whimpering like a small child.

There was a sudden sharp yank and the thread came free, then there was a pop as if he’d cleared his ears and suddenly the world rushed back in, the smell of the stale air in the quinjet and the touch of Bucky’s fingers on his hand, too light to have to have felt before. The hard rectangle in his hand had the smooth feel of plastic and he realised that it was their lucky keyring. Clearly Bucky had decided that Clint needed a bit of extra luck while Wanda did whatever she’d just done.

Clint opened his eyes and squinted against the light, grinning at the sight of Wanda in front of him, red fire fading from her hands. She was smiling with success and it was enough for his heart to leap with joy. She wouldn’t be smiling that widely if she hadn’t managed to completely remove the curse.

“You fixed it!” he said, then turned to Bucky, clutching at his arm. “I can see you, oh, thank fuck.” He leaned in and kissed him. Bucky kissed him back, and Clint took his chance to enjoy being able to taste his mouth again. He ran his hands through Bucky’s hair, feeling the softness of it against his skin, then pulled away to just look at him for a moment. “I love you,” he said. “I’m so glad I’m gonna be able to see your face when I marry you.”

“I love you too,” said Bucky. Clint read it from his lips and rewarded him with a kiss.

“Hey, I don’t suppose you’ve got any spare aids for me hidden away?” he asked, then glanced around the quinjet. It was the one he and Bruce had come in rather than the one the Avengers used most often, which had lockers for all of them in which Clint kept a spare set. Sam was in the pilot’s chair, presumably flying them back to base, but he was glancing over his shoulder at what they were up to. Clint grinned at him and he gave him a thumbs up.

Bucky tapped Clint’s hand and he looked back at him to see he was holding out a set of aids that he must have pulled from one of the pockets in his combat suit.

“You’re the best,” said Clint, and kissed him again. He swapped the keyring for the aids and fitted them in, turning them on and then letting out a sigh of relief as noise flooded back in. “Oh fuck, that’s all my senses at once.”

“Thank fucking Christ,” said Bucky. 

Clint kissed him again, then looked back at Wanda, who had sunk down into a seat, looking tired. “What the fuck did you do? I thought you had no idea how it worked.”

She gave him a smug smile. “I didn’t, but what you said about not understanding it made me think. I didn’t understand it because it was completely unlike any magic I’ve had experience with. It’s a very personal thing, how you channel your magic, and it depends a lot on the way you see the world. My magic, and Doctor Strange’s, are both heavily influenced by years of being taught about science, especially his. We apply the kind of logical procedures that you learn in science lessons at school, as much as it is possible. Even Bruce has been trying to examine magic as if it is science. Morgan Le Fay, though, she learnt her magic long before scientific thinking was taught to every child. We didn’t understand the curse because it wasn’t constructed in a way that made sense to us. She used other skills as the way to channel her magic.”

She glanced between Bucky and Clint. “Is this making any sense to you?”

Clint waggled his hand at her. “Sort of. How did you work out how she was...constructing it or whatever then?”

“We channeled the magic she had left in you through ourselves when we sent her back,” said Wanda. “Doom was the one to manipulate it to to trigger her time-travel spell, but we were linked together. I felt how he did it, and it felt something like weaving. When I examined your curse as if it were a piece of fabric, it suddenly became clear to me and I could see where to pull to unravel it.”

“And then the whole thing came apart,” said Clint. “Okay, that’s incredible, you’re officially my favourite.”

Bucky cleared his throat. Clint turned to look at him. “Are you saying she’s not your favourite as well right now?”

“Sure,” said Bucky. “I was actually gonna ask if you’d mind if I married her instead of you.”

“The ring wouldn’t fit her,” he said, twisting it around his finger. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”

Bucky looked down at his hand as well. “I wonder if it would fit Steve,” he said thoughtfully.

“I heard that!” called Sam. “Don’t even think about it.”

Bucky sighed. “Definitely stuck with you then,” he said, wrapping an arm around Clint’s shoulders and pulling him in close.

“Tough luck,” said Clint, and kissed him.

****

When they got back to the base, Bucky hustled Clint away to their rooms. Clint let him, because this didn’t seem like a good time to be trying to assert his independence or whatever, and besides, he wanted to get Bucky alone just as much as Bucky wanted to get him alone.

They made it as far as the bedroom before Bucky pulled him into his arms and kissed him. “Fuck, that was too close,” he muttered.

“Yeah,” agreed Clint, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s shoulders and clinging on. “It’s all done with now, though. Curse is gone, Morgan’s gone, even Doom will probably stay quiet for a bit after all this.”

Bucky nodded and kissed him again, tightening his grip as if he never wanted to let Clint go. “Are you gonna get mad if I look after you for a bit?” he asked. “Get you in a shower and check you over?”

“Go for it,” said Clint, because that sounded like he was going to have plenty of chances to experience Bucky with every single one of his senses, and that was all he wanted right now.

Bucky pulled back to give him a small frown. “You sure? I don’t mind if it’s been a bit much already, with the carrying earlier and all. I know I can be a bit clingy.”

That took Clint back, because he hadn’t realised until Bucky said it that he wasn’t feeling the familiar twitch of annoyance at Bucky taking care of him. Bucky hadn’t stopped touching him, and he’d walked Clint back to their rooms with an arm slung around his shoulders, but Clint hadn’t felt mollycoddled like he usually did. He just felt loved.

“It’s not clingy to want to take care of me,” he said, and meant it. He put a hand on Bucky’s cheek. “It’s been a really shit few weeks. Whatever you need to do to get passed that, we’ll do it.”

Bucky’s gaze darted from one of Clint’s eyes to the other, as if searching for a sign that he wasn’t completely sincere, then a small, perfect smile settled on his lips. “I love you,” he said, and kissed him again. “Now, hold still while I check you over.”

He carefully undressed Clint, checking him over as he took each item off as if Clint had been stabbed and had just forgotten to mention it.

Okay, so, that had only happened once. Maybe twice.

Bucky ran his hands over Clint’s shoulders once he was shirtless, over his skin and down his arms, and Clint took a moment to really enjoy knowing he wasn’t going to lose the ability to feel that in a few days.

Bucky pressed a kiss to the point where Clint’s neck met his shoulder. “Can’t believe you don’t have more bruises,” he said.

“How are your bruises?” asked Clint. “I watched you go through that window.”

Bucky gave a shrug as he started taking off Clint’s pants. “Mostly healed, I think. I sorta stopped thinking about them at about the point where you were wrapped up in multiple kinds of magic and screaming like you were dying.”

“Funny how that works,” said Clint, stepping out of his pants. “I still kinda want to see them, though, just in case you need some looking after too.”

Bucky snorted. “You just want me naked, I see through your plan,” he said, but he did step back and strip his clothes off. Clint crossed his arms to watch, wolf-whistling at the critical moments.

There were still bruises splashed along Bucky’s side and hip, but they had faded to the yellow-green that meant they’d be gone soon. Clint still stepped forward to run a gentle hand over them, taking his time and then pressing his finger to Bucky’s print as it was right there. He let his gratitude for Bucky’s place in his life flow out for a few seconds, then let go.

“You know, if we’re both not really injured, we can totally have sex in the shower,” he said, thoughtfully.

Bucky’s grin lit up his face. “I like your thinking.”

Bucky gave him a slow, intense hand job in the shower, kissing Clint deeply at the same time until all the sensations rushed together and Clint came with a gasp, staring through the falling water at Bucky’s face and wondering how he ever got this lucky.

He returned the favour, but it didn’t take long for Bucky to come, his face pressed into Clint’s neck so that he could only feel the vibrations of his moans.

Afterwards, Bucky traced over his body with a flannel and then washed his hair and Clint just relaxed and let him. It didn’t feel like being treated like a kid, not even when they got out and Bucky dried him down with a towel. It felt like being cherished. Clint’s heart felt like it was going to overflow with everything he was feeling, but instead of stepping away he just took a deep breath and let it flow through him.

Lucky was waiting on the bed for them when they got out and he leapt up to nuzzle at Clint’s crotch, which was awkward in a towel, then went to greet Bucky as well, who gave him a vague pat.

“I’m guessing we’ll need to take him out soon,” said Bucky.

“Yeah,” said Clint. “And we need to feed him.”

“And ourselves,” said Bucky, heading for the wardrobe. “I’m starving.”

“You’re always starving,” said Clint, pulling on boxers, sweatpants and a t-shirt, then hesitating. “Hey, can I borrow one of your hoodies?”

Bucky sent him a grin. “Sure. You want a black one or a black one?”

Clint considered the matter, glancing up at the ceiling with a frown. “A black one,” he finally decided, and Bucky tossed one over. Clint pulled it on and then took a deep breath of the fabric. It smelt just right, and he smiled to himself. He was going to get to have that every day from now on as well.

When they got out to the main lounge, most of the team were back but it looked like they’d only just got there. Bruce was wrapped in a blanket and slumped on a sofa with Natasha beside him, and Clint gave them a friendly nod but didn’t interrupt.

“Hey, congratulations on being magic-free,” said Rhodey, and Clint grinned with delight at the reminder.

“Here’s hoping I stay that way,” he said. 

“You fucking better, I ain’t doing this again,” said Bucky. “Way too stressful.”

Sam came out of the kitchen, closing his phone. “Okay, Steve says that he and Tony are on their way over and they’re grabbing take out on the way, so if you have any requests, put them in now. He wants everyone to gather when they get back so we can debrief, so if you want a shower or anything, now’s your chance.”

“Oh god,” muttered Bruce. “Debrief. I knew there was a reason I’d stopped doing this.”

“It should be pretty short,” said Clint. “Right? All bad guys neutralised, no major injuries, what can there be to talk about?”

“We levelled at least three buildings, civilians were way too close to the fighting, we only managed to save the day because a super-villain decided to help out and, oh yeah, the media had enough helicopters up to catch it all in HD,” said Sam.

“Including the bit where you rocked up with a guy we’ve all been saying we haven’t heard from in years and who is technically a fugitive,” added Rhodey, “and also the bit where you got twisted up in a magical vortex, collapsed, and got rushed off in a quinjet by your clearly-panicking soulmate.”

Okay, from that point of view, it probably did look bad.

“I wasn’t _panicking_ ,” muttered Bucky. No one looked like they believed him.

“Wait, why’s Tony coming?” asked Clint.

Natasha turned and gave him a very nasty smile. “Avengers Handbook Rule Nine,” she said. “If three or more things happen on a mission that will need explaining to the media, there will be a press conference. You know Tony usually comes to press conferences.”

“Oh god,” said Clint with dawning horror. At least two of those things involved him so there was no way he’d be able to avoid being part of that.

“Oh yes,” she said, with satisfaction. Clint had a feeling she wasn’t entirely okay with him having flown her soulmate right into the middle of a fight before he’d collapsed a building on top of him.

Clint glanced at Bucky. “Want to take the dog out and maybe, accidentally, run off into the woods and start a new life as professional Bigfoot impersonators?”

“The first part is fine, but I’m not missing out on take out,” said Bucky. 

So much for soulmate solidarity.

****

Steve looked exhausted when he and Tony got to the base. Sam immediately went to him and kissed him, then took his hand to link their prints. Not for the first time Clint considered how ridiculous it was that he and Bucky had got the job of being the ridiculously adorable couple for the media’s benefit when Steve and Sam were the ones that couldn’t keep their prints off each other.

He and Bucky were on one of the couches with Lucky curled up in a happy, tired circle next to them, so it was easy for Bucky to drop his head towards Clint’s and mutter, “You know, if you hadn’t activated on me in such a stupid place, we’d find it easier to do that all the time.”

Clint raised an eyebrow at him. “Because you’d be totally fine with being linked with me 24-7.” He shook his head. “Nope. Besides, having a print on your hand is dull. You know you like being more unique than every other fucker who just shook hands.”

Bucky considered that. “I do like being able to keep it hidden most of the time,” he said, resting his hand on his side for a moment, over where his print was. “You know, when I was a kid I spent ages trying to work out how my soulmate was going to touch in such a weird place for the first time. I thought maybe they were going to be a doctor or something. I never once figured it would just be because my soulmate would be a clumsy idiot.”

Clint huffed out a sigh. “I was injured and tired,” he pointed out for the thousandth time.

“You’re a clutz,” corrected Bucky, and kissed him.

“Hey! Lovebirds! I’ve got something for you.”

Clint pulled away from Bucky to glance over at Tony. “Take out?”

“Better than take out,” said Tony. “Although, yes, we also have take out, don’t panic.” He pulled a small box out of his pocket and tossed it at Clint. “As requested.”

Clint looked at the box then back at Tony. “Oh thanks, man. That was quicker than I was expecting.”

“What can I say?” said Tony. “I’m the best.”

Bucky nudged Clint. “What is it?”

Clint turned a grin on him, shifting around to face him properly. “Well, I was kinda feeling bad that I have a shiny new piece of jewellry and you don’t, so I got Tony to make me something.”

“Because apparently you people think I’m just here to act as whatever kind of craftsman you need at any given moment,” added in Tony.

“No point in acting pissy about it when you turn up with exactly what he asked for much quicker than he was expecting it,” said Rhodey. “Oh, hey, I’ve been meaning to ask. I need a bookcase for my room-”

“No,” said Tony, jabbing a finger at his chest. “Nope, sorry, honeybear, you’re just going to have to go to Ikea like everyone else.”

“Okay,” said Rhodey, “then will you help me put it together? The instructions always say you need two people.”

“Ooh, like two normal guy besties?” said Tony. “Can we drink beer and wear trucker hats while we do it? And be shirtless, obviously, that goes without saying.”

“Where the hell did you learn about guy friends?” asked Rhodey.

“Gay porn, mostly,” admitted Tony. “Don’t look worried, the only screwing we’ll be doing will be the bookcase.”

“Are you kidding?” said Sam. “You know that the minute you start trying to put together something mass-produced you’re gonna throw a tantrum at the design and insist on rebuilding- Oh.”

“Yeah, that was kinda my plan,” said Rhodey, with a sigh. “Thanks for ruining it, man.”

Bucky nudged Clint. “So, do I get a look at it, or…”

“Oh right, sorry,” said Clint, and handed the box over. Even though he knew that Bucky would probably be happy with pretty much any ring he got him, he could still feel nerves churning up in his stomach. Stupid, it wasn’t as if Bucky was going to change his mind on marrying him just because he didn’t like the ring.

Plus, Clint could totally always blame it on Tony.

“So, uh, I was thinking about how it’s gonna be on your metal hand, and how it was gonna have to be strong enough to take the kind of abuse you put that fist through-”

“I don’t punch walls nearly as much as I used to,” put in Bucky. “Don’t listen to what Steve says.”

“Right,” said Clint, because he knew when it was best to pretend to believe something like that. “Well, anyway, I was thinking about really strong metals, but they were just going to end up looking the same as your finger, and I want it to stand out, you know? I want people to know you’re mine.”

“We could just engrave your name on my arm,” suggested Bucky, looking amused.

Clint rolled his eyes. “Tattoo it on your ass, maybe,” he said. “Anyway, I decided any kind of metal was just gonna blend so, uh, I got Tony to use the same carbon fibre he uses for my arrow shafts.”

Bucky finally flipped open the box and just stared at the ring. Clint craned his neck to see it as well. It was smooth and black and exactly what he’d been hoping for.

“I suppose I shoulda prepared a line about how the arrow of love that I shot at your heart was the best bullseye I ever made,” he said, thoughtfully.

Bucky grimaced. “Nope, I think you did just fine without that.” He turned the box towards Clint and held out his hand. “Okay, come on then. Do the honours.”

Clint pulled the ring out and then pushed it onto Bucky’s finger, where it fitted perfectly. Well, of course it did, that was why he got the guy with all of the measurements for Bucky’s metal arm on file to make it.

“Now we match,” he said, putting his hand beside Bucky’s, where his own ring shone.

“Yeah,” said Bucky, and took his hand, pressing their rings together. “Hey, have I said how grateful I am that you said yes?”

Clint laughed. “Have I said how grateful I am that you still wanted to marry me after the colossal clusterfuck I made of this whole thing with Morgan Le Fay?”

“It’d take a lot more than that,” said Bucky. “Although, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t hide something like that from me again.”

“I won’t,” said Clint, and leaned in to kiss him so that he knew how serious he was. “I promise, Bucky. I won’t ever hide something from you again.”

Tony clapped his hands next to them, jerking Clint out of the moment. “Okay, this all looks adorable, but if you don’t come and eat soon, there’ll be none left,” he said. “And we need to talk about what we’re going to say at this press conference tomorrow.”

Clint groaned. “God, don’t remind me.”

****

The press conference was pretty much the hell Clint had been expecting, made worse by Bucky deciding he wasn’t going to go along.

“What?” said Clint. “Oh, come on, how can you abandon your soulmate like this?”

Bucky shrugged unrepentantly. “I thought I might take Lucky out instead. You know, you got the dog, you think you’d be pleased I was taking an interest.”

Clint glanced around at Steve. “You can’t let him get away with this, surely? What about, about team cohesiveness and presenting a united front, and all that bull?”

Steve shrugged. “He didn’t play a part in the fight that the media are going to have questions about and, frankly, it’s easier to wrangle you guys when you’re not together. If he wants to stay here and play with the dog, that’s fine.”

“Aw man,” muttered Clint. “Then I’m wearing my Winter Racoon shirt for it.”

“Nope,” said Steve. “Strictly professional, please, we need to look like we’re taking yesterday’s incident seriously.”

“Jesus,” muttered Clint. This just got worse and worse.

Erika had corralled about thirty reporters into the room they used for press conferences, all of whom had cameras with stupidly bright flashes, so as they all dutifully trooped in, Clint was half-blinded.

Rhodey, Sam and Vision had all been given free passes as well, so it was just Steve, Natasha, Clint and Wanda, with Tony slipping into a seat at the end and giving a cheerful wave.

“Hey, everyone,” he said. “So, you all know how this goes. Steve’s gonna read a statement and then you can ask some questions. Anyone who asks a question we don’t like will get one of Natasha’s most terrifying glares aimed at them, so I’d avoid that.” He glanced at Steve. “Okay, Cap?”

Steve started to stand up when the door behind them cracked open and Bruce shuffled in. “Um,” he said, as all the cameras started going off again. “Hi, I thought I might join you.”

Well, that was going to take the pressure off Clint.

There was a brief bit of fuss while Erika found Bruce a chair, during which Clint could see Natasha giving him her ‘what the fuck are you doing, idiot?’ glare, which Clint usually saw directed at him.

“Okay,” said Tony, “I guess what I said earlier still stands, except now it won’t just be Natasha’s glare you’ll be dealing with if you ask the wrong thing.”

Bruce huffed out a sigh. “If I lost control just because someone said the wrong thing to me, I’d have had to have stopped hanging around you years ago, Tony.”

Bruce’s presence meant that ninety percent of the questions after Steve had read his statement (which was only about thirty percent lies) were for him. Once Clint had reassured everyone that, despite the drama of Bucky rushing him off in a quinjet after the fight, he was totally fine and not even a little bit injured, he got to just smile and keep his mouth shut.

They’d told the press that Bruce had seen a report about the attack and contacted the Avengers to offer his help, and they’d sent Clint to pick him up, which explained why they’d both shown up late. Bruce dodged a few questions about where he’d been for the last year and a half with evasive skill, so Clint wasn’t expecting a real answer when yet another question was aimed at him.

“What made you decide to come back?”

Bruce hesitated, then glanced down to meet Natasha’s eyes before looking back at the reporter. “Actually, the other guy did,” he said. “I’m not really the hero type, and I find all this kinda thing overwhelming, but someone made me realise that the other guy is perfect for it. He should be out there, protecting people, and it seemed kinda selfish of me to hide away when I knew he’d want to help.”

“You were the one who went into a collapsing building to rescue a dog,” Clint pointed out, because he couldn’t agree that Bruce wasn’t a hero as well, just in a quieter way.

Bruce gave him a crooked smile. “It’s easy to put yourself in danger when you know you’ve got someone else to shield you if it comes to it,” he said. “Besides, if I’d left the dog behind, you’d never have forgiven me.”

“How’s your dog doing, Clint?” called another reporter, and Clint beamed at him for asking the best and most important question of the whole press conference.

“He’s great,” he said. “He’s so great. He’s nearly learnt how to roll over on command. I have photos and videos, if you want to see them just stay behind at the end.”

“I would not recommend that,” said Wanda. “When he says he’s got photos, he means that his entire phone is packed with them and he’s had to delete half his apps so they’ll all fit.”

“They’re not all of Lucky,” protested Clint. “I kept a couple of Bucky on there as well. Well, a couple of Bucky with Lucky.”

“Have you and Bucky set a date for the wedding yet?”

“Nah,” said Clint. “I don’t know that it’s going to be a long engagement, though. There doesn’t seem much point in waiting around.”

Actually, now they both had rings, maybe they should just pop down to Vegas and get it done with. Would Bucky go for that?

No, no way in hell.

“Have you picked a best man yet?” asked another reporter.

Clint blinked at her, because he hadn’t even thought about it. But then, did he really need to? He glanced at Natasha. “You’ll do it, right?”

“Sure,” she said. “Who else can we trust to get you there without being distracted a stray dog or a pot of coffee or a new kind of arrow?”

Steve cleared his throat. “Are there any more questions about the incident?”

A dozen hands went up, and Clint settled back in his chair as Wanda took her turn at being bombarded with questions she couldn’t answer.

“I’m afraid I can’t talk about the details of the magic that we used. Yes, that includes why it may have looked like Clint was involved in the spell. I can confirm that Morgan Le Fay won’t be coming back to bother us again. No, I can’t explain how Doom and I worked together.” She sent a faintly desperate glance at Steve as the questions started to get repetitive.

“I think that’s all we’ve got time for,” said Steve, glancing to meet Tony’s eyes and getting a nod. “Thank you for coming.”

Getting out of the room felt like an escape. He patted Bruce’s shoulder once they were free and clear of reporters. “Congrats on surviving the very worst part of being an Avenger.”

Tony came out of the room and gave Clint a worryingly large grin. “Clint, there are three reporters waiting behind because they want to see photos of your dog.”

Aw fuck.

“You’re going to go back in, right?” said Wanda. “We can’t have Avengers getting a reputation for not keeping their word.”

Clint sighed and pulled out his phone, flicking to the album of dog photos that he’d accumulated. “Don’t start lunch without me.” He took a deep breath, then went back once more unto the breach.

****

They had the wedding at the farm. Neither of them were interested in anything big or showy, so they just borrowed some chairs from the base and set them out on the lawn, hung a few purple streamers around the place, and fired up the grill for a barbecue afterwards.

Bucky nixed the idea of using Lucky as a ring-bearer on the basis that he still had a tendency to go dashing after squirrels and he didn’t want to have to go hunting through the woods for the rings before they could get married. Clint supposed he had a point, but it would have been so god-damn cute.

He’d mainly just been thinking about it as a party, because he hadn’t really thought it would make much difference to say the words and sign the paperwork on something they’d both already known for over a year. He hadn’t been expecting it to hit him like a punch right to the heart when Bucky looked him in the eyes and made his vow.

“You were one of the first people to remind me that I get to make my own choices, and to give me the time and space I needed to do that. Fate may have decided we should carry each other’s prints but, Clinton Francis Barton, I’m the one deciding I want to spend my life with you. No matter what happens, I’m always going to chose you.”

Aw, tears, no, not now, not with everyone watching.

He didn’t have a hope of controlling them, though. By the time they’d exchanged rings and the registrar had pronounced them married, Clint’s face felt like it was going to crack from the size of his smile, and tears were on the verge of overflowing from his eyes. He leaned in and kissed Bucky as their friends all applauded, sinking his hand into his hair and holding him close even after their lips had separated so that he could hide his face.

“You’re totally crying,” said Bucky, in an amused undertone.

“Shut up,” said Clint. “I just got married to the love of my life, I think I’m entitled.”

Bucky just laughed, and kissed him again.


End file.
